Ruined Paradise
by JaneScarlett
Summary: I've always wondered what Leigh Vanvoreen, and Web of Dreams would've been like if the original VCA wrote it... So this is my attempt to 'channel' VCA!  Rated T for now, but will change later.
1. Author's Note and Prologue

_Author's Note:_

_I've always loved Cathy and Heaven (VCA's original heroines) for their courage and strength; not to mention for their multi-faceted personalities: full of innocence and anger and human flaws. And I've always wondered how VCA would have written Leigh, given the glimpses of her that Heaven receives in the first two books of the saga. I don't think she would have been as saccharine as the GW made her, so I decided I wanted to rewrite Leigh the way I think she might have been._

_Thanks to Angus, for the hours spent listening to me talk through plot. And thanks to Sarah Blackwood, for encouraging, proofreading, and wanting Leigh's clothes for herself! _

**Disclaimer: I own nothing: plot and characters here belong to VC Andrews, and the poetry to Percy Bysshe Shelley.**

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><p>Lost Angel of ruin'd Paradise!<br>She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain  
>She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.<p>

Percy Bysshe Shelley: _Adonais_

**Prologue**

My favorite time of day is what the storybooks call dusk: when the sun begins to set, and the sky deepens to a sapphire shot with pinks, oranges and golds drifting over the mountain range of the Willies. Despite all I have lived through and the places I have been; this is home Here in the Willies, where the rich smells of the earth and grass mingle with the sweetness of the wildflowers every time the winds blow, and every step taken high on these mountains feels watched over by God.

Ma tells me that this labor is going well so far, but I thought I could read in her eyes before she turned away to boil another tea, that there is something she isn't saying. So to take my mind from my fears, and away from the pains of labor I began to write.

This history is for you, my darling child. I don't want to permit myself to think the dreaded words 'if something goes wrong'… but there it is, looming in my mind, and on the paper already.

And so my dearest, my unborn but happily anticipated child… _if _that dreaded something does happen; in these pages, you hold my story. The story of how you came to be. Though Luke may call me an angel, I am anything but. However, I hope that my love for you will ease any heartbreak these words may bring, and that you will love and forgive me, despite who I have been.


	2. Chapter 1: Childhood

**Disclaimer: plot, characters and... well, everything belong to V.C. Andrews**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Childhood<strong>

The beginning and end of it all is my Mother. She was the most important thing in my life; from birth to death, in sickness and in health, in love and in hatred… Mother was a part of who I was, and a part of who I would become.

My Mother, Jillian Vanvoreen, was so beautiful, she seemed like nothing on earth. As a little girl, I used to perch on the end of her bed to watch her getting ready to go out in the evenings. Mother was a slim, graceful woman. Her pale gold hair felt halfway down her back, and her creamy skin was highlighted by her black stockings and filmy lingerie as she sashayed around the room; over to the dresser to pull out a lacy bra, to the closet to rifle through her fancy dresses and delicate high heels. When she sat at her vanity, I would slide over to mimic her; pursing my lips as she pursed hers to run lipstick over her mouth and turning my head this way and that to view my face from all angles.

My friends played house and school, but not me. I played Mommy.

When I was older, Mother would talk to me, explaining what she did to make herself so beautiful, so unreal.

"Always moisture," she said, delicately dabbing a face cream over her face and neck. I darted one finger out to scoop lotion and rub it onto my own face as I stood beside her.

"Gentle, gentle," Mother admonished as she reached over to stop me vigorously scrubbing the lotion into my cheeks. I closed my eyes as she lightly circled her fingers over my face.

"Your face is like a flower," she said. "You would never grab flower petals like that would you?"

I shook my head, and opened my eyes to see Mother so close to me, I could count each fleck of green and violet in her blue eyes, so similar to my own.

"I wish I could have your skin," she said, musingly, rubbing her thumb over my cheek. "How sad, that wonderful silky softness fades with age…" For a moment, she seemed lost in her own thoughts, until she blinked and came back to herself.

"When you get to my age, you will understand the great benefits you are learning now," Mother said, reaching for a never-ending range of cosmetics to darken her lashes, brighten her eyes, blush her cheeks, and rouge her lips. As she used each thing, she would hand it to me, so that I, too, could take my turn to apply it to my own face. Sometimes, when I looked in the mirror standing there with her like that, it frightened me. I looked so much like my Mother, only in a small size. She brushed out her long, silvery gold hair, and I did the same with my own smaller hairbrush, before a squirt of jasmine scented perfume finished her look off.

If Mother was my companion, my entertainment, my role model for how I would one day be, Daddy was everything else. My Daddy, Cleave Vanvoreen, ran a set of steamship luxury liners. Back and forth across the Atlantic the ships went, to destinations like London, the Caribbean and South America. Often, Mother and I went with them too. Daddy wasn't always on board ship though. Many weeks he worked in his Boston office, sometimes late into the evening and came home right before dinner.

From the moment Daddy came home, Mother would drift into her studio to work on her artwork, and Daddy and I would spend the evening together. Sometimes, I looked at Daddy with his distinguished graying hair, dark eyes and neatly trimmed beard and wondered if he wished he had a son to play ball and to talk sports; but when we were together I never thought about it. We talked about everything. School and my friends, his work and the differences of his various ships; of TV shows and favorite foods and our dreams. No matter how tired he looked, his entire face came to life when he came home and I threw myself into his arms.

Daddy told me once that one of his favorite memories was coming home to find Mother and me in the middle of an art project in the living room. I was covered in bits of pink paper, and Mother had blue paint smudged on her cheek.

"Cleave," she cried out, her hands against her face trying to wipe off the paint. "You're home early!"

Daddy caught both of us in his strong embrace and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"How could I leave my two best girls for any longer than I had to?" Mother kissed him, long and lingering on his lips, and I hugged him tight around his waist. I remember thinking then, how happy I was.

In the way the young do, I never thought anything would change. Who could blame me for thinking that? Occasionally, I had a fight with a friend, or Mother bought me an outfit I didn't like, or Daddy missed a holiday party. But fights were never forever; Mother bought me so much clothing I never had to wear something I didn't like, and Daddy always came home with hugs and kisses, despite whatever holidays he missed. So I never believed anything in life would ever go so wrong it couldn't be fixed with the love and affection I lived with daily.

Blame it on the folly of youth.

The day I turned twelve was to be the first of many changes. Of course, when I went downstairs to my decorated, beribboned place setting at breakfast, I didn't realize that soon my life was going to change in so many unanticipated ways.

"Darling Leigh," Mother said, putting her arms around me, "happy birthday, my dear girl. Twelve years ago, you were born, and I never thought I could love you more than I did at the moment they laid you in my arms; but now I know I was wrong. I love you so much more today."

I hugged her closer, feeling my cheek against the smooth silk of her hair, and breathing in her jasmine perfume. Despite the dears and darlings that peppered her speech –the last vestige of her Southern upbringing- and the many expensive gifts she lavished on me; such verbal and physical affection was quite unlike her, and I savored the moment.

"I love you too," I whispered. My eyes stung with tears and I blinked hard. Mother pulled away from me and held my chin so she could gaze at me.

"No tears," she said. "Only smiles for my special girl on this wonderful day." I blinked a few more times and smiled at her.

"Thank you," I said. I would have said more, but I caught a glimpse of our housekeeper, Ellen, waiting to serve breakfast. So instead, I sat down at the table, and put my napkin in my lap.

"I'm starving," I said, "Can we start eating? Where is Daddy?"

Ellen came in with Mother's bowl of morning grapefruit, as well as my traditional birthday breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes with raspberry preserves. I gave Ellen a grateful smile, and her eyes twinkled at me.

Mother sniffed, which caught my attention. It was almost a snort really, a half bitter, half angry sound.

"Your father," she articulated each syllable precisely, "was called to work this morning. Just imagine, Leigh, called to work on the birthday of his only daughter."

I went through my usual pancake ritual: a light slick of butter, a heavy spread of preserves upon each pancake before I stacked them up and began cutting dainty bite sized portions. Mother gave my plate a pointed look, but didn't say anything. It was an old and previously agreed upon rule that on my birthday, she made no comment on how fattening anything was.

"Mother," I said, "you know Daddy's business takes a lot of time. Anyway, I don't mind. He'll be home later before my party; he always is." I closed my eyes in bliss as the pancakes melted on my tongue.

"_I_ mind," Mother said. "I mind, because he's never here. That even weekends and holidays get disrupted at a moments notice." We ate in silence for a moment, and then Mother smiled at me across the table.

"I'm sorry, Leigh dear. We won't discuss this anymore. And especially," she smiled, "not on such a special day."

I had birthday parties every year, and they got more and more elaborate as I grew older. For my twelfth birthday, Mother had planned a pool party. It was such a hot June already, that even besides it being my party, I was quite looking forward to getting into our pool. I pulled on my favourite blue striped bathing suit, and then over it, I put on the dress I had picked to wear. It was a simple white dress that wrapped in front and tied at the waist, and had a swirling hem with blue roses embroidered on it.

When I went downstairs, most of my friends were already there. My best friend, Jennifer, was talking to our other good friends from school, Marian and Emily. Joanna and Sara, from the stables were by the coffee table in the living room, carefully stacking their presents on the rest of the pile. The rest of my guests were already having sandwiches and lemonade out by the pool, and we joined them out there. The hot sun beat down on my skin, and felt like it was crisping the top of my head as I wandered around my friends and nibbled on miniature ham, cheese and turkey sandwiches, washed down with swigs of icy lemonade.

I was having so much fun with my friends I almost missed that Daddy wasn't there until it was time to blow out the candles on my cake. Mother glided over in her turquoise dress when I beckoned.

"Daddy still isn't here." I whispered in her ear.

"What do you mean he's not here?" Mother snapped, louder than she intended, and a few of my friends looked at her.

"I don't know where he is," I answered. "How would I know where he is? But I don't think he's here now. I want him here when I blow out the candles."

"Too late," Mother muttered, as Ellen walked in, holding a cake blazing with thirteen candles.

As I stood over the cake, I remembered my other birthday parties with people singing, and I closed my eyes to make my wish. _I wish Daddy was here_, my mind fervently wished, _I wish Daddy was here_. And I opened my eyes, right before I blew out the candles, and saw Daddy across the room, still holding his briefcase and smiling across the room at me.

I managed all the candles in one go, and then Jenny helped me pluck them off the cake and serve up wedges to everyone there. And when I was sitting down with my own piece of cake, I turned around to see Daddy standing there.

"Daddy!" I cried out, putting my arm around him. He smelled like he always did, of pipe tobacco, spicy aftershave, and the ocean.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he whispered into my ear. "You know I would never miss your birthday."

"You made it, "I whispered back. "So I don't mind."

Daddy ticked me, and I mock glared. "I am twelve. Too old to be tickled."

Daddy looked a little sad for a moment. "I wish you weren't getting older, and you would be my little girl forever." I gave him another hug, resting my head against the lapels of his jacket.

"Leigh," my best friend Jennifer called out. "We're going into the pool!"

Daddy squeezed my shoulders one more time before I got up to shed my dress and jump into the pool with my friends. With a huge splash I sank into the water, and scissor kicked my way back up to the surface, skin goose-bumped from the cold, and my pale blond hair plastered down. Marian started a water fight, and soon we were all splashing each other, shrieking with laughter. Being the birthday girl did not help, because I got splashed constantly.

"Enough!" I cried, climbing out of the pool. "I'll be back in a minute." I left the other girls swimming around and diving for rings, and ran into the house for a drink. Compared to the bright sunshine outside, inside the house felt dark and constricting. My bare feet slapped on our golden colored wooden floor, and I shivered as the warm air washed over my wet skin.

Loud voices alerted me that Mother and Daddy were in kitchen, and I stopped before I walked in. Even from the door, I could hear their furious whispered voices. I had never hid from my parents before, except for jest. Feeling guilty, I stepped back into the hallway to hide in the shadows and tried to hear what they were saying.

"You almost missed her birthday, Cleave."

"I showed up at the last minute. She has you, she has friends here. She didn't even notice."

"She did notice! You almost held up the cake." I peeked into the kitchen and saw Mother and Daddy standing at the counter, arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers at each other.

"Jill, I was at work." Daddy's voice sounded tired, and I longed to run over and hug him, to tell him it was alright.

"Work, Cleave? Always work!" Whap. Mother's hand, heavy with the diamond and sapphire rings she always wore on her pale, slender fingers slapped the counter.

"Yes, Jillian, work!" Daddy's voice got louder and I cringed. Were these really my parents; my wonderful, happy parents? Fighting?

"Work, Jill. Work, so Leigh can have her parties, and her school, and her horse; so you can have your designer clothes, and diamonds. So we can have our nice house and our pool and our lifestyle. Do you think I stay away from home for fun? Do you think I want to make you unhappy on purpose?"

I heard a door slam, and I began to back away from the kitchen. I didn't want any of my friends to hear my parents fight like that; with Mother sounding so hard and bitter, and Daddy sounding so exhausted. As Mother grew more angry, Daddy just seemed more and more tired. I rejoined my friends in the pool and tried to forget what I'd overheard, but even over the giggles and splashes, I kept reliving their fight.

Later that night, I paced back and forth in my room. My mind couldn't take in what I'd overheard. It couldn't be the first one, absolutely couldn't. I cast my mind back, trying to remember anytime I had heard them disagree about anything.

There was the time about a year ago, and I strained to remember. When Mother began working with Eliza Longstone, Jenny's mother. Jenny's family owned a publishing company, and Eliza had asked that Mother, with her fine eye for detail and artistic ability, do illustrations for some of the storybooks they printed.

"Why do you want to do something like that," Daddy had asked. We were sitting at dinner one night, when Mother had brought this up. Mother immediately began playing with her silverware. When she was nervous, she could not keep her hands still.

"Cleave," her voice pleaded, "it's a wonderful opportunity to use my skills, for something that I love.

"Anyway, Leigh is getting older. She is already away at school in Winterhaven, and only home on the weekends. And with you at work all the time, I get bored here alone; so bored, Cleave!" Her voice raised in irritation and I looked up in alarm. Daddy's face was like a shuttered door when he looked across the table at her.

"Winterhaven is a good school, Jill," he said mildly. "It's where generations of Vanvoreen women have gone to learn and grow into fine women. We both agreed that it is the best thing for Leigh."

"Yes, yes." Mother began twisting her rings around her fingers. "We did agree, and it is the best for her. But I'm still so bored here alone…" Her voice trailed off plaintively, and she looked at him. I could feel the heat of their gaze at each other, and finally Daddy nodded.

"If you are so bored Jill, then I understand. It's fine with me if you work with Eliza."  
>"I think it's a good idea too," I chimed in. Both my parents turned to look at me, as if they had forgotten I was there. Mommy smiled at both of us, her warm, beautiful smile.<p>

"I'm so happy to have your blessings, both of you. I'm looking so forward to this! Let me tell you about the first project she wants me to work on." Mother was off and running, explaining the first of many projects she was to work on with Eliza, while I listened eagerly, and Daddy smiled indulgently to hear Mother so happy.

I flopped down on the bed, face down and smooshed my face down against the pillows, feeling the cool satin against my cheeks. Had that been a serious fight? I hadn't thought so at the time, but maybe?

The phone rang and from my spot on the bed, I flung out a hand to pick up the receiver.

"Leigh? It's Jenny." My stomach unclenched when I heard my best friend's cheerful voice. "Great party today. And happy birthday again!"

"Thanks," I responded. My voice felt dull and Jenny picked up on it.

"What's wrong?" I could imagine her twirling her soft brown hair around her fingers, and leaning against the walls in the closet as she talked. Unlike me, Jenny didn't have a phone in her bedroom and she hid wherever she could to get privacy during phone calls.

"It's… Jenny, what do you think of this?" Quickly I outlined the conversation I'd overheard, and heard her swift intake of breath.

"Leigh! That's awful to hear, especially on your birthday. But…" Jenny's voice trailed off and I assumed she was making herself more comfortable, sinking down into the fur coats and clearing a sitting space for among the shoes.

"My parents fight too, about the business. But it doesn't mean anything. After a big fight, they don't talk for a few hours, and then Mommy kisses him, or Dad helps her with dinner and then it's alright and they both laugh." Jenny sighed. "Maybe they've already made up."

"Maybe," I said dubiously. "It's possible."

We hung up a few minutes after that, but I still lay out on my bed, thinking about my parents until I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The following day bloomed bright and clear, and I woke up in a better mood than I had gone to sleep in. Jenny was right; she had to be right. People fight all the time. Jenny and I were best friends, and even we'd had fights before, but we always made up and our friendship was closer than ever. So, I reasoned, it was the same for my parents. I dressed in a short lilac striped dress and sandals and went downstairs.

Ours was a nice house, filled with golden wood furniture that matched the colour of our wood floors. There were pale cream throw rugs scattered in the hallways, and the sofas and curtains were in delicate patterns of blue brocade. Our tables gleamed like honey in the bright morning light, and I walked into our dining room with a big smile.

"Morning Mother, Morning Daddy," I called out. I hugged them both and was pleased to see them both smile back at me. Everything seemed normal, and I felt myself relax for the first time since the previous night. Everything was right again. How could it not be?

I kept my ears primed for more disagreements, but rarely heard anything. In fact, Mother and Daddy didn't say much to each other, good or bad. If I had thought about it, I might have realized that their exchange of pleasantries and inquiries about each other's day was stilted and overly formal; but like the child I was, I thought only of myself. That summer was one of hot sunny days; of fun with friends and picnics and days spent at the stables, riding my horse Pansy. As if their schedules had reversed, Daddy often came home early that summer, and we would eat dinner together on our patio, surrounded by candles in the dusk and our brand of warm companionship. In contrast, Mother worked during the days, sometimes late into the evening. She had suggested wall and ceiling paintings for a wealthy customer, based upon sketches for a fairy tale book she had done, and spent much of her time supervising how it was going.

The days of summer flew by, and I rarely remembered being so happy. But I didn't realize that only children are so inexplicably happy, finding joy in every little thing. With my twelfth birthday, I was entering adulthood. Adulthood, where happiness is fleeting and misery waits in the wings like a dark cloud, just waiting to overwhelm the bright sun.


	3. Chapter 2: Divorce

**Disclaimer: I own nothing: plot and characters are rightful property of V.C. Andrews and her estate...**

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><p><strong>Chaper 2-Divorce<strong>

As the summer days waned, it grew colder in the evenings and the leaves began to darken on the trees. Unlike most of the kids I knew, I had always looked forward to returning to school in September. Last year, I had been nervous because it was my first year at Winterhaven; a church-turned-prestigious boarding school, where not only my grandmother had gone, but my great grandmother as well. In many ways, it was very different from what I was used to. But as the year had passed, I grew less homesick, and more accustomed to living with the other girls, the companionship while we did our hair in the bathroom and the late night parties. And now, at the end of the summer, I was looking forward to returning, and no longer being one of the new students. Jenny was my roommate, and sleepovers at each other's homes never had the same thrill that seeing each other every day and evening had when we were at school.

During my last week at home, Mother came home early enough for dinner with Daddy and me, and I cheerfully filled all the conversations with talk about school, and teachers.

"I'm all packed," I announced over our meal of roasted chicken, stuffing and mixed salad. That meal remains in my memory to this day, down to the fact that Ellen over-salted the stuffing, and my serving of salad had far too many cucumbers. I had picked them out and ranged them around the side of the bowl.

"Darling, you're already packed?" Mother turned surprised blue eyes my way. "I thought I'd help you again, the way we did last year."

"But," I sputtered, very surprised, "I asked you a few days ago if I should wait for you before I started packing, and you said no."

Mother waved her fork at me. "I didn't mean that, Leigh dear. I'm very busy now, with those paintings. I didn't think I needed to tell you that I would help you!"

"She's already packed, Jillian," Daddy said. "Let her be."

"That's right," Mother snapped. Something hard and bitter twisted Mother's smile. If I hadn't been looking right at her then, I would never have believed her delicate features could look so ugly. "Take her side, Cleave. You always do."

Deep inside my mind, there were frightful whispers that this was yet another fight brewing from my parents. And I thought they had stopped this! There had been no sign all summer long that what I'd overheard had stayed, silent and unspoken, to rear back up now. I looked from one to the next, feeling the last bite of chicken I'd taken choke me. I took a sip of water and found my voice again.

"Mother? Daddy?" I sounded weak and tremulous, and I tried again, to make my voice sound stronger. "What is going on?" They both turned and looked at me; Mother appraisingly, and Daddy with sadness lurking deep in his dark eyes.

"You might as well tell her, Jill," Daddy said.

"I thought we'd tell her later," Mother said. She started nervously twisting her wedding ring around her finger, eyes downcast and peering at Daddy through her lashes. "We don't need to say anything now."

"Everything is decided," Daddy said. "If you don't tell her, I will."

"Fine," Mother spat. She pulled off her ring and pushed it back on, over and over and over.

"Leigh, dear," she said in her soft, whispery voice. "Your father and I… We're not getting along. You may have noticed that?" She waited for me to answer, but I couldn't. I didn't understand what she was talking about, couldn't see where the conversation was going. I just had the horrible feeling that with every word Mother said, I was sinking into quicksand and drowning faster and faster.

"What are you trying to say?" I burst out. "What, Mother, what?"

Mother wilted. Her head, dripping with that pale gold hair just like mine drooped, and her fingers began twisting again.

"Leigh," Daddy said finally. "Your mother has decided she is not happy in our marriage, and she has processed a divorce."

Silence followed his words; a painful, bone-chilling silence that went on and on. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room, and my chest rose and fell as I panted, trying to get enough oxygen. My eyes filled with tears, and I kicked my chair back and ran out of the room.

Alone in my room, I sobbed into the pillows. I don't know how long I cried. When Daddy knocked on the door, I was sniffling occasionally. My eyes were red rimmed and sore, and the pain in my heart had settled into a dull ache.

Daddy didn't say anything; just sat beside me and rubbed my back until I sat up to look at him. He looked desperately unhappy. Daddy was always impeccably dressed, with starched shirts and neatly knotted ties, but tonight he looked disheveled. Still, neither of us spoke. I put my head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around me.

"We didn't want to tell you this way," Daddy said finally. "We've been trying to find a time all summer to tell you, but it never seemed right.

"Your mother is still a young woman," Daddy went on. "She would rather I spend the day playing and having fun and going to parties, than working all the time." When I strained my memory, I realized that part of me had always realized that for every weekend Daddy worked, every holiday he was late for over the years had brought increasingly more frowns from Mother. But I couldn't understand what was so wrong with that. Daddy's work was part of who he was. I couldn't even count the number of times he'd told me that 'a strong work ethic makes a strong person'. Whenever I strived to higher grades, to another riding trophy, or to a swimming prize, I could hear his voice in my head saying that same statement, encouraging me on.

"But… but don't you still love her?" I realized that my asking that was not a simple question. Tied into my thoughts about not wanting my parents separated, about wanting my life the same as it had been was another more frightening thought: can people really stop loving each other? If Daddy had stopped loving Mother, or vice versa… did that mean I had to question their love for me? Fearfully, I twisted around in his arms to look at him.

"Do you? Do you still love her?" Daddy bowed his head, and I counted the tears that slipped from his eyes to splash onto my bedspread: one, two, three.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice raw. "Yes, I still love her. But sometimes love means not being selfish, and wanting the other person to be happy… Leigh, you are getting so grown up, and I want you to understand. Your mother feels that this path she will embark upon… this will make her happy in a way I cannot." What to say to a statement like that? How awful, that my Mother could make my wonderful, loving Daddy feel that way.

I felt in that moment that I would never forgive her. How could I ever, ever forgive her for something like that?

It was a relief to return to Winterhaven at the end of the week The remaining days before I left passed in a haze of indifference, mixed with periods of pain. It seemed like every time I turned around I saw something else in the house that reminded me of how happy I used to be. The table where we ate dinner. The fireplace in our living room, which saw so many winter evenings of Mother, Daddy and me snuggled down before it, warming ourselves in its glow. The front door, where I would throw myself into Daddy's arms when he came home at night. But I never cried, not after that first day. Like a switch had been thrown, I could not find any more tears to come out.

Mother tried to talk to me, often. She would knock on my door every evening when she came in from work, but I ignored her.

"Leigh! Answer the door," she called. I would turn up the record player to drown out her knocking and didn't answer, not ever. I had nothing to say to her. My room, never redone from the pink moiré wallpaper, and pale wood furniture of my childhood felt less like a haven, and more like a prison as I now hid away from her. Angrily, I would flip through my photo album. Ever since I was a little girl, I would update my life in my photo album, writing under each picture so I would remember everything. Now that I was older, the age most girls would keep a diary, I couldn't do it. I preferred to see my life unfolding before me in picture after picture. But even as I looked at each photograph, an angry little voice in my head would whisper: _lies. __All __lies. __Look __at __how __happy __we __look, __all of us__. __Even __her! __And __now, __now __look __at __what __is __happening!_

And then I would sling the album off the bed, and onto the floor.

Daddy was always the one who brought me to school, and by the time he dropped me off that cloudy Monday morning, I was ready to escape. School felt more like home than where I'd left; girls running around the hallways in various states of undress, shrieks and giggles from friends greeting each other after a long summer. Jenny came in a few hours after I did, and hugged me fiercely.

"I've missed you!" she cried out. "You look so pale! Didn't you get more sun last week when I was away?"

I couldn't say it. I had decided over those last days spent in my room that I would not say anything about the divorce. What words to use to describe this? I didn't even know.

"No," I murmured finally. "I wasn't feeling well and stayed inside most of last week."

Jenny looked at me, head cocked to one side and hazel eyes thoughtful. Her long brown hair was held in a loose braid, and her uniform looked as disheveled as it always did. Five minutes after being dressed, Jenny always looked like she had been crawling in the woods: white tights wrinkled and bagging at knee and ankle, navy pleated jumper askew and shirt untucked. Spontaneously, I hugged her.

"I've missed you so much," I said.

"And I've missed you. Are you alright, Leigh?" Jenny pulled away from me to look critically into my face. "You don't look alright."

What could I say? My parents are getting a divorce. I could just hear the gasps of shock that would come from that. No one else's parents were divorced, no one!

"I'm fine." I shook my head so my long blond hair fell into my face and hid me from view.

The first few weeks of school passed as school usually did. Books to read, papers to write, math assignments to do. The most popular girl in our class, Charity Benson, had late night party after party, and we would stay awake after curfew with stolen bottles of soda pop, imported Swiss chocolates sent by Charity's cousins in their fancy schools throughout Europe, and toasted cheese sandwiches to giggle about boys and movies. All of those things, plus Jenny's cheerful conversation made me feel better. Because Daddy was away on a trip, I managed to not even go home those weeks, so it was easy to ignore what I knew must be happening. Had Mother moved out? Was Daddy going to go on more trips? Where did all that leave me?

Despite my weekly phone date with Daddy, I didn't hear from Mother. I was secretly pleased about that, though still a bit angry. I managed to conveniently put out of my mind that when she had tried to talk to me, I hadn't wanted to listen.

_Fine,_I fumed within my own mind one day, walking to English. An early October breeze blew the hem of my navy pleated uniform skirt to swirl around my knees, and set my hair to dancing around my face. _You __want __to __be __that __way, __Mother? __Fine!_

"Leigh!" Jenny's voice broke into my thoughts. I spun around in surprise as I entered into Beecham Hall. Jenny was dancing in one place, holding her hands together as she hopped from one foot to the other. "You've got a visitor; Mrs. Thompson said you should go straight to her office."

I looked perplexed at Jenny and she shrugged. "Don't know, but she was really insistent, you've got to go."

I ran all the way back to the main building, and straight into the Headmistress' office. Who could my visitor be? Not who I'd expected.

Mother was standing in the office. Her blond hair was high in a bun on top her head, and she was dressed in a sleek black suit, with a bright blue silk blouse and grey fox fur stole. Her black high heels clicked on the floor as she paced. I stopped in the doorway. I had managed to avoid her for weeks now, but now like prey scenting the hunter, I knew I was trapped. I would have to talk to her. And I didn't want to! I didn't know what she would say, but inside I was afraid. Afraid that if I listened to her list reasons she didn't want to be with Daddy anymore, I might understand. That she might win me over to her side in hating him.

And so I hesitated in the door way for, oh, so long, just watching her; wanting to run to her as though she was still my wonderful Mother, yet wanting to flee.

As if she suddenly sensed me, Mother spun around.

"Leigh, dear!" she cried, holding out her arms. I refused to step into her embrace, and Mother's arms fell down at her sides. She looked at me reproachfully, sadness tugging down the corners of her blue, blue eyes.

"I thought," she said, "that if I gave you some time, you would start to understand."

"Daddy is wonderful," I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. "I will never understand why you don't want to stay married to him." Nervously, Mother began playing with the end of her fur, looking at me unhappily.

"Darling girl, I wanted you to understand before you come home this weekend; that's why I stopped in to see you. All I want," Mother said, hands clasped, posture pleading, "is for you to listen to me, and then I think you'll understand."

I moved to the high backed chairs that Mrs. Thompson preferred and sat down. I kept my arms crossed and glared at Mother.

"I'm listening," I said. "I can't promise any more than that, but I will listen."

"When I was a little girl growing up in Texas, I always dreamed of fairy tales, of a handsome prince to take me away. And then I met your father. He had come to Texas on a business trip. My mother knew friends of his, and invited him to dinner. Hoping," Mother said disdainfully, "that he would be a wealthy suitor for one of my sisters. But then our eyes met, and…" Her voice softened slightly.

"Cleave seemed so wonderful. He was older, and so much more mature than any other boy I knew, but he had a sense of fun and excitement that matched mine, and he adored me as though I was a princess, too good for this world. You know my own father died when I was young, and your grandmother was far more occupied with the ranch, and my sisters; so I loved Cleave for wanting to care for me, the way my father always had.

"Darling Leigh, my sweet, sweet dear, I don't know if you are old enough to understand. But I fell in love with him for not only the kindness and maturity I saw in him, but in how he saw _me_; that I was too good and precious for the world, and he wanted to protect me, to love me forever. I loved spending time with him, and I wanted nothing more than to be with him."

I listened to Mother, turning sympathetic despite myself. What she talked about was like a fairy tale, about the beautiful princess being swept off her feet by the handsome prince. After all, what girl does not dream of a fairy tale romance?

"But now," I said, bringing her back to reality, "you want a divorce." Mother stiffened.

"For a few years, when you were little, I thought everything would be the same as it was when we first met. But things kept changing. Cleave kept working all the time, ignoring me in favor of his ships. He missed holidays, he would cancel weekends away, and miss parties for our friends.

"Look at me," she demanded, holding her arms out wide. "I am still a young woman, Leigh, and I want what I used to have with your father. And he has grown old, so very old in these past few years. All that matters to him is work."

I didn't know what to tell her, so I didn't say anything. All too well I understood what she was talking about, but I didn't agree. I knew, absolutely knew that Mother and I both mattered to Daddy; but I knew also that Mother would never believe it. My Mother, my beautiful Mother believed in what she could see; and she could not see right then that anything else but her perceptions were right.

So we sat longer; me with my arms crossed, and Mother still playing with the edges of her fur. I heard the bells outside, and voices in the hallways, and knew the other girls were headed downstairs for lunch.

"I have to go to lunch," I said absently. "Thank you for telling me all this. I understand, but I don't agree with you about it." I stood up to leave, and Mother caught my arm.

"Leigh dear" she said hesitantly, "there is something else I have to tell you. I wanted you to know before this weekend."

I felt panic rising in the back of my throat like sour bile. Whatever she was going to say, I knew, absolutely knew I wasn't going to like it!

"There is no easier way to tell you this, Leigh. I've been unhappy so long with your father, I almost didn't realize what happiness felt like anymore. But then I found it, and I know that this is real." I blinked at Mother, not understanding what I was hearing.

"Leigh, darling… I'm getting remarried." The words resounded with a gong in my head that coincided with the ringing of the school's churchbells striking the hour, and all I could do was stare in horror at my Mother's smiling face, and dread whatever I would have to deal with in the coming weekend.


	4. Chapter 3: My New Family

If I could have found a way to avoid going home that weekend, I would have. If I could have pled illness, or pretended that Jenny wanted a sleepover, or that I had a project I just had to finish… But I couldn't. Winterhaven would have called my family if I was sick, and it was too early in the semester for there to be a project so important I would have to stay to finish it. Plus, Jenny was in wild spirits about going away with her family on a trip to New York City.

"New York, New York! It's a wonderful town!" Jenny sang at the top of her lungs, slightly off-key. We were both changing out of our uniforms to go home Friday afternoon. While I put on a sky blue dress with black polka dots around the edges of the sleeves, Jenny wriggled into slacks and a wrinkled green shirt inherited from her older brother and waited impatiently for me to finish getting ready.  
>We walked outside along with Charity and Marian, when Charity suddenly whistled. "Whose ride is that?" she cried out, pointing at a silver gray limousine was waiting in the curving driveway. The door opened and out stepped my Mother with a tall, handsome blond man at her side.<p>

"I think it may be mine," I said quietly. All at once, Mother's cryptic comments about wanting me to understand everything before the weekend made sense. Jenny, Marian and Charity were all turned to look at me in surprise. Jenny tugged on her ear, her eyes thoughtful as she observed me looking in trepidation at the car.

"That's not your Dad," Marian said. The wind ruffled her short black hair and her brown eyes were narrowed in focus.

"I know him!" Charity broke in, rather importantly. Really, it was no surprise to anyone that she would know him. Charity's father was a high society lawyer, and Charity knew everyone who was anyone. "He's Tony Tatterton!" At our blank looks, she elaborated.

"He's the owner of Tatterton Toys. Makes all these fancy toys, and historical replicas that are super expensive. My Dad has some of them. But why," she asked, looking sharply at me, "is he here to pick you up?"

I shrugged. "I guess I'll tell you about it on Monday." Feeling as though every step I took brought me one closer to my doom, I went over to the car. For a brief moment, I wondered what Mother would do if I bolted and ran screaming back to my room to hide. But I knew that would not stall what was to come, the most I could do was to meet destiny head-on. So I squared my shoulders, and walked purposefully the last few steps down to the car.

"Leigh, dear." Mother held out her arms to me in a bizarre déjà vous of a few days ago, and now, like then, I didn't run into her arms.

The blond man had his head tilted to the side as he observed us, with one long, shapely finger stroking his chin. "This can only be your daughter, Jill," he said. Despite growing up in Boston my whole life, even I blinked in surprise at his accent. There was something about it; a rolling of the vowels, a few clipped consonants that made him sound nearly British.

"She has your hair, and those eyes…those beautiful blue eyes that I thought only you had." He smiled at me, and oh! It made his face light up, and his light blue eyes shine. I didn't want to like him, and yet I was charmed by his smile, and his compliment. Still, I refused to say anything, even as I felt color flood my face in reaction to his close examination of me.

"Come, come, get into the car," Mother said. "We can talk on the way home."

I had never ridden in a limousine before. If I had been alone with Mother, or with Daddy, I would have been staring all around at the shiny interior, pulling back and forth the partition between us and the driver, perhaps even bouncing on the seat a little. But I was too nervous, and too discomfited by the situation. So I sat as stiff as a porcelain doll next to Mother, while Tony sat across from us.

"Leigh dear, this is Tony. His name is Townsend Anthony Tatterton, but his friends call him Tony."

I stared into Tony's light blue eyes without blinking. "And what should _I_ call you?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Why, Tony of course," Mother laughed, patting my hand. I pulled it away from her, and folded my fingers carefully in my lap. When I glanced up at Tony though, I saw that even if Mother hadn't understood the meaning of my comment, he had. His lips, as well shaped as any movie star's pursed for a moment, and then he smiled at me.

"Yes," he said, catching my eyes. "Tony, of course. For we are to be friends, aren't we Leigh?" Evidently, he meant to disregard my rudeness. I meant otherwise.

"Are we?" I asked. I was well aware of how I sounded. Beside me, Mother gave a little tinkling laugh.

"Yes, of course you will be, Leigh dear. Now, don't embarrass me with more of that tone of voice." Her own voice had lost her trademark whispery grace and hints of her childhood Southern speech wafted out. Vaguely satisfied that I had proven a point -no matter how trivial- about how I felt, I subsided into silence and sat back in my seat.

No one spoke for a long time. I kept my eyes focused on my hands, looking without seeing the familiar shapes of my long fingers, long palms and small oval fingernails that I tried to keep neatly filed. But hands are only so fascinating, and I eventually flicked my gaze up to find Tony watching me intently. He gave me a small wink and a smile, and I hastily turned my attention to the scenery rapidly racing past. I gasped in surprise! Because of travelling back and forth from school last year, I knew every inch and landmark of this drive back home. And we were nowhere I recognized!

I turned to Mother. "Where are we going?" I demanded.

"Home," Tony answered smoothly. He had leaned back in his seat, feet crossed at the ankle and fingers templed in his lap.

"Home," I said, "is with my parents. In our house on Endicott Street."

"Home," he countered, "will be with us. We've decided that you will live with us at Farthinggale Manor, with your Mother, and me. And my younger brother, Troy."

"You've always wanted a brother," Mother put in, leaning forward to join our conversation. "When the Longstone's little boy was born, you played with him just as much as Jennifer did."

Yes, yes, I remembered that. I remembered how cute Jamie had been, and how as he grew older, his face would light up when Jenny would come into the room. I had wanted that for myself. I had even asked Mother why I couldn't have a baby brother of my own, and she had given me a fleeting, terrified look, before dropping a kiss on my hair and telling me that I was all she and Daddy had ever wanted. I was saved from saying anything when the limo began to slow down into a turn down a private road.

Despite myself, I was impressed. Even Charity, the richest girl at Winterhaven did not live in a house like this one, a house that even had its own name! I swallowed down a gasp of surprise at the gates we drove through, huge impressive gates with fairies that peeped between the iron leaves that adorned them, and _Farthinggale Manor_ ornately embellished upon it. Before me loomed a house that looked just like a castle from a fairy tale. It was of smooth gray stone, with arched red turrets. The car stopped at the foot of a wide stairwell leading to tall, arched front doors. I slowly got out of the car with Mother and Tony, and stood looking at the house I was expected to live in.

As I wondered what my life would be like in this place, the front door opened and a little boy ran out laughing. Tony caught him up easily in one arm and swung him up on his hip.

"Troy," he said, laughing like the little boy he was holding, "this is Leigh. She's going to be your new sister." I approached them and smiled up at Troy. He was so cute with his chestnut curls faintly reddish in the sunlight, and large dark eyes in a small peaked face. He looked at me soberly for a moment, and then ducked his head shyly into Tony's shoulder.

"Hi, Troy," I greeted, my voice as soft as if I was approaching a wild animal. "I'm very happy to meet you." Troy peeked out at me, and then began to wiggle a little until Tony set him down. Then he held out one little hand to me, like a gentleman.

"I am very happy to meet you," he said, with a slight baby lisp clouding his speech. I shook his hand. If Tony Tatterton had failed to charm me, then this small brother of his was close to capturing my heart.

Mother was waiting by the door, impatiently tapping one foot. "We should go in," she called out. "We have a lot to do, Tony, and I want Leigh to see Farthy." Tony and I each held one of Troy's hands as we went up the stairs.

The only thing in my life I had ever seen to equal Farthy was the hotel we had stayed at in London when I visited a few years ago with my parents. My eyes got bigger as I took in the entry way, and I released Troy's hand to walk around, peek into a music room with a grand piano in the corner. But the piano was not what caught my attention. I was caught, staring at the paintings on walls and ceiling. Suddenly, it all made sense.

"Mother," I said. "This is the place, the place you were doing the paintings for." Mother came over to me, and side by side we looked at her work. It was beautiful. She had expanded on paintings she'd done for a range of fairy tale books, and the walls were filled with shadowy woods with the occasional stream of brilliant sunshine, and castles obviously designed on Farthy set on top tall mountains. Overhead, a man on a flying carpet darted between birds, heading toward a castle half-hidden by the clouds.

Suddenly, Mother's long work days this summer, and the resulting divorce from my father made complete sense. She had known Tony all this time – spent all summer working in his house, falling in love with him. The sympathy that had sprung up when hearing her tale of feeling neglected from Daddy began to fade. He worked so much, but he had always come back to Mother, and to me. _She_ was the one who had neglected us! All summer, when Daddy and I were together having dinner alone, she'd been here instead! I backed away from the doors, but no one noticed.

"Come," Tony said, holding out a hand to us. "We'll take you on a tour. I love to see newcomers view of the house." He tried to take my hand to lead me around, but instead I reached down to Troy.

"Do you want to come with us?" I asked. He smiled, shyly and I picked him up to settle him on my hip. Troy's weight was comforting, and his little boy smell tickled my nose as we walked from room to room, from wing to wing. I feared I might get lost here as there were so many rooms, nine in the downstairs alone! I noted the library, large and impressive with floor to ceiling shelves lined with books. But after a long day at school I was getting tired, and after awhile Troy's weight made me drag. As though Tony sensed my exhaustion, he stopped by a set of double doors, and reached over to pluck his brother from my arms. As he did so, his hands brushed my side and I stiffened. He turned away, his face unreadable as he opened the door.

"I prepared these rooms for you," he said. "I hoped you would like them." I walked into a sitting room, decorated with sheer ivory curtains blowing in the faint breeze coming through the open windows, and pale Turkish rugs underfoot. "The bedroom is off that way, and the bathroom is through there."

"It's very pretty," I said. "I've never had my own sitting room before." Then I regretted my words. It sounded as though I had been deprived, when of course I had been anything but. But the room was beautiful. I loved the lightness, the airiness of the sheer ivory curtains, and the pale blue accents of lamps and throw pillows around the room. The walls were covered with the same lightly patterned blue, green and violet fabric as the furniture, and the lights gave off a soft glow like candlelight. I barely noticed when Tony and Troy left, as I walked into my bedroom. Curious, I opened the drawers, the large walk-in closet. So many of my clothes were there already, and in the bedside drawer was my photo album. I closed the drawer again. I wasn't ready to see that.

Without taking off my shoes, I lay face down on the bed, my long hair spilling out around me in a smooth silk curtain. This was beautiful, but it wasn't home. Within only that short time of meeting Troy, I was perilously close to loving him already, but was a brother the best reason to want Mother to be married again?

Dinner was a long conversation between Mother and Tony, all about wedding plans. I tried not to listen, and to pay attention to Troy. His shyness was wearing off, and he began to tell me about his favorite things, his pony, and his toy piano. I was listening to his earnest chatter so much, I almost missed what they said.

"What?" I could not have heard correctly, absolutely couldn't. "What was that?"

Mother and Tony turned to me. Surprise was etched into Tony's face, and his blond eyebrows were raised quizzically.

"Leigh dear," Mother said, "we were talking about the wedding." She looked at me seriously, quizzically, reproachfully. "We've been talking about it all throughout dinner; haven't you been listening?"

"Now, Jill, " Tony said. "Leigh was occupied in listening to Troy." He turned to me, a smile on his lips. "The wedding is in about six weeks from now. Your mother and I have been waiting so long to be together, we don't want to wait any longer."

"You're getting married in six weeks?" I screeched. I looked at Mother, my eyes pleading for understanding. How could she do that? It felt like I was sleepwalking through the rest of the evening. I pled exhaustion early, right after Troy's bedtime and escaped to the room that was mine in name, but did not feel like it really belonged to me. Even though I closed my eyes, I couldn't sleep. My mind raced, disbelievingly on all that I'd learned that day.

I was raised to believe in beauty, in fairy tales, in angels and all things good. But as I lay there that night in that beautiful bedroom in the bed that felt so unfamiliar, I shied away from those thoughts. I could see no good in the situation I had been thrust into, and if there was a place I was trapped in here at Farthinggale Manor, it was hell and not heaven.

Like the enchanted princess of the fairy tale, I struggled to wakefulness on Monday morning. I felt like my lifeblood had been replaced with unmoving rocks and grit, and I moved slowly, as though I'd slept a hundred long, fitful years in the last weekend. It had not been a good weekend. If Mother had spoken to me about wedding plans, I hadn't listened. When Tony spoke, I answered either in terse monosyllabic words, ignored him, or if possible, left the room altogether. The only bright spot had been little Troy. My soon-to-be little brother was the only thing that had brought a smile to my face.

I struggled into the bathrooms and stared dispassionately into the mirror at myself. I was a fearsome sight. At its best, my complexion was silky smooth, like fresh poured cream. But today I looked like I had survived a long fever which had left my face rough and paper-white, drained of all color excepting for the purplish shadows beneath my eyes. Even my hair looked lifeless. My long pale blond hair hung limply down my back, with the tangles clinging stickily to my brush when I tried to move it through.

All around me, girls were performing their morning ablutions, chattering about their weekends. I looked up to see Charity watching me. Something in her green eyes seemed dark and vicious, and then she smiled at me.

"Are you feeling well, Leigh?" Her honeyed tones masked a hard edge and I caught her eyes in the mirror. "I heard something about your Mother this weekend," she went on.

"Oh," Jenny said cheerfully as she twisted her hair around her head to make an uneven braid, "what did you hear?" I wordlessly put down my own brush and went behind her to unravel the mess she was making of her hair and quickly began to fix it. She had already gotten two demerits for the state of her uniform since the start of the year, and one more would have brought a punishment.

Charity's eyes gleamed as she looked at me. At that moment, I remembered that I had never liked her. Charity was so unlike her name. Her pretty face, graces and social connections masked a girl full of viciously sarcastic remarks and put downs. Even though I'd been to many of her parties, it was a widely acknowledged fact that it was better to be a careful friend to Charity –if she'd let you- than risk being her enemy. I looked at her, noting her auburn hair fashionably flipped at the ends, and held down with a navy headband. Her green eyes were faintly accusing, and horribly, the bathroom blurred before my eyes. Like watching a car crash everything seemed to go in slow motion. Jenny's fine, nut-brown hair tickled my fingers as I held onto her braid, and sounds faded in and out of my ears like a badly tuned radio. _I heard that your mother… your mother…_

"I heard that your mother divorced your father." Challenge thrown, Charity looked at me, hands on her hips. "Well," she demanded, "is that right?"

I could feel everyone's eyes on me. I swallowed, my throat felt thick. Then I lifted my head high.

"Yes, you heard right." I didn't try denying it. Why bother? I was sure that Charity's father had passed on the information, or that her mother had heard society gossip about Tony's upcoming wedding. No one spoke. Girls I had been friends with for the last year were staring at me as though I had become a stranger; which I suppose was true. To those girls, the girls with their perfect families and perfect lives like the one I used to have, I was no longer the same Leigh Diane Vanvoreen they had known. I had become an unfortunate statistic, one of those children from a broken home, a divorced kid. No one else like me existed at Winterhaven, or indeed in their entire worlds and no one knew how to deal with me.

"I see." Charity spun around on her heel, giving me a pitying, disdainful look and walked out. One by one, the other girls looked away, and then silently, one by one, they all left the bathroom. Jenny stood up to face me, fiddling with the end of her braid. Her hazel eyes searched my face, and her cheeks were pink. Jenny and I had known each other all our lives, and were as close as sisters. I could almost tell what she was thinking then, and even before she opened her mouth, I searched for a way to explain everything to her.

"Why didn't you tell me," Jenny asked.

"I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything."

"How long have you known?"

When I told her, her eyes filled with tears. "I knew something was wrong, and you said you were fine. Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were best friends, Leigh!"

"We are best friends!" I reached out to hug her, but she stepped away from me. "I just couldn't say it! I didn't want anyone to know, not even you!"

Especially not you, I wanted to say. I just knew everyone was going to look at me the way they already were. I was hurt by how my other friends had turned away from me, even if it was expected. But Jenny Longstone was my best friend, had been my best friend for so long! I couldn't have lived with her looking at me the same way.

"I don't know if we are anymore," Jenny said. She turned and walked out the bathroom, in that instant leaving me feeling even more utterly alone than I'd felt so far.


	5. Chapter 4: The Wedding

The next few weeks passed much like the last week at home had passed before I went back to Winterhaven. But at school, there was no hiding anywhere. My friends ignored me to my face. Conversations died when I walked into the room, and no matter where I went someone was pointing or staring at me, openly or surreptitiously. Even the teachers gave me questioning looks when they thought I wouldn't notice.

_I'm still me_, I wanted to scream. I am still the same Leigh Vanvoreen that everyone knows! But now, my Mother no longer loves my Daddy and she has turned my life inside out and torn it from side to side and I barely recognize it myself. So, I reasoned to myself, I shouldn't be surprised that no one else recognized it either.

My room was no longer a sanctuary. Jenny and I avoided each other. Even at bedtime, we undressed in silence, and got into bed, and the last one in turned off the lights. I wanted, no, needed something to be as it used to, but I had too much pride to beg Jenny to be my friend again. Plus, I didn't know if she felt like everyone else. So the weeks passed, with the silence between us growing longer and even more uncomfortable.

Daddy was away, on trip after trip after trip. He called me every Tuesday night, his voice exhausted and hoarse. It hurt me, hurt deep inside to hear Daddy sound like that.

"When are you coming back?" I would ask. I asked often, but he always had an excuse. He had to visit new accommodations in Mexico. Some ships in London were having problems, and he needed to check them. He was having a new ship built in Amsterdam, and he wanted to supervise the installation of the boiler. In appearance, I might have looked just like Mother, but Daddy and I were so similar in spirit that I could read through his words to see the truth within. I knew he was hiding by not coming back, just as I had hidden at home to try to forget. It felt like I was missing some part of my soul without being able to see him, but I couldn't blame him. I understood, oh so well. But I wanted my Daddy back. I was so sure that seeing me would help him feel better, as I was certain that he would help me.

Without being able to go home to Boston, I spent most weekends at Farthy. Mother had completely moved out of our old home and into her own suite to plan the wedding, and often told me she needed help; but the help she needed came in the form of my nodding and remarking on how nice the flower arrangements, or bridesmaid dresses, or hall decorations were. Like a child, I grew easily and rapidly bored in our conversations and tried to escape her whenever I could. Hearing her voice calling out to me from her rooms, or the whiff of her jasmine perfume in the air that told me she was near drove me to explore the house simply to hide somewhere she could not find me.

No matter how long the weekends seemed that I spent there, the house still intimidated me with its old-world opulence and silky Oriental carpets underfoot, and expensive, uncomfortable furniture. If it was a hotel, it would have been charming… but as a home, it left so much to be desired. Oh, the fanciful thoughts that ran through my head! I wondered if all rich people lived like this! Walking around as stiff as new paper dolls! Living, like they had been plunked down into an immaculately kept dollhouse with furniture made of cardboard and fancy fabric scraps, being afraid of moving and possibly breaking, or soiling something. I missed our living room at home, a place I could lie on the floor, dance before the fire and flop on the couch whenever I felt like it.

To keep homesickness at bay, I preferred to be outside. The trees were alive with one last burst of rich russet and gold leaves, and I spent most of the weekends wrapped in my chocolate brown wool coat, walking in the gardens or strolling on the lawns with Troy as my shadow beside me. Outside in the clean, crisp air flavored with the salt tang of the nearby sea, I felt more alive than I had been for a long time. But at night, I stayed in my rooms after dinner. It scared me a little that the rooms which I wanted to hate, I found myself loving. With each successive weekend spent there, they began to feel more and more familiar. They were not like my real bedroom, the one at home that would always be _mine_, no matter what. But in the way that last year, Winterhaven began to work its way into my senses, that ivory and blue suite I spent so many nights in was swiftly making its mark on me.

Time, when you hope for it to slow, runs like sand in the fabled hourglass. The wedding was to take place on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving itself was an uncomfortable experience. Sitting at a table full of wealthy strangers invited for the occasion, with Troy at my right side, and Mother dressed in brilliant blue silk sitting by a handsome Tony made me so upset I could only peck at my food. Unbidden, I thought of last Thanksgiving; of Daddy carving a turkey, and the Longstones as our guests. Of Jenny putting mounds of whipped cream even larger than the slice of pumpkin pie that they accompanied on each plate. Of the laughter, and the real sense of thanksgiving I had always felt. The contrast between then and now made a lump come into my throat that no sips of water would clear.

The next morning saw me in Mother's room, watching her brush her hair and carefully apply makeup. Just as when I was a child, she held out her cosmetics, but I refused to take them. I looked in the mirror, and saw that my face looked tired, pale and drawn. I couldn't remember the last time I had slept well.

"Leigh dear, just put on some blush. You look so much prettier when your face glows." I glared at Mother. Did she think I was a child, to be seduced into happiness by her careless offer of cosmetics?

"No, thank you," I said. "I prefer to look ugly."

"Oh, Leigh." Mother sighed. "You always take everything so seriously. I only meant that you look healthier when you have some color in your face, not as pale as you look now. But," she trilled, "if you don't want to, then don't." She turned back to the mirror, examining around her eyes for any lines or wrinkles. For all of my life, I could recall her doing the same thing. Mother was obsessed with youth, with clear, rosy unlined skin. Every birthday and holiday saw a new set of miracle cures and spa treatments designed to strip the results of age from her. In fact, her last birthday had been her fortieth, and since then she had grown even more obsessive about her youthful appearance. I watched her finish her careful inspection of her face before she turned to dress for the day.

"It's absolutely crazy how much work there is to do!" Mother was carefully pulling her stockings up. I watched out of the corner of my eye, slightly mesmerized as inch by inch, her creamy legs glistened as they were gradually clad in nylon. "The wedding has taken up all my time this fall. You know, Leigh dear, Tony is very important. He's from one of those old families here in Boston -the ones they consider the Boston Brahmins- and he's really very wealthy, moving in certain social circles."

I wrinkled my nose, thinking of the many wings in Farthy, of the expensive furniture and the maids and butlers. To my right was a tall window, and I looked out at the grounds that we could see through her windows, where gardeners were busily mowing the grass that seemed to stay velvety and green even into the winter, and clipping the hedges. "Yes," I said drily. "I guessed."

"The wedding of an important member of society is very special. It will matter a great deal who will be there, but we are keeping it very private. I hope you won't mind that, because I must tell you, we were unable to invite any of your school friends."

"No," I said slowly. "I don't mind." It didn't matter, even if I did mind. I had no friends left to invite.

"I had something else to ask," Mother said as she turned and caught my hands in hers. Her voice, soft and whispery reminded of being a little girl, when just the sound of her voice and the scent of her perfume spelled comfort and security. But no more. I pulled my fingers from hers.

"This day will be very special to us," Mother said. If there was a flash of hurt in her eyes, it was swiftly masked as she turned away from me.

"Leigh dear, I want you to be pleasant at the wedding." I started to protest, to make some excuse, but Mother cut me off by waving a hand airily in my direction. Her jasmine perfume wafted over at me. "I've noticed your behavior toward Tony, and I can't have it at the wedding. So I want you to promise me, that you will be pleasant. This is an important wedding, for important people. We simply cannot have a scene. And," she went on, "I did not raise my daughter to have that attitude."

My brain felt steeped in bitterness, and inside my head were angry retorts begging to burst through my lips. I so desired to say something nasty to Mother. But I had been trying over the last few weeks to say something to hurt her and Tony as much as I was hurting inside, and nothing had worked! They both ignored my silences, my sarcastic comments.

Though it killed me to acknowledge Mother was right, on one count she was. I had never been raised to be rude. For every comment I made, the Leigh I used to be shriveled up and died a little more inside. So I promised. If it killed me, I would be polite at the wedding.

Looking back, it seems that there are some blessed holes in my memory. To this day, I remember very little of the wedding day itself. Oh, I do remember some things. I remember Alice, my mother's new maid coming in to run my bath, fix my nails and hair and help me into my dress before running back to the group of five maids helping my Mother into her gown.

I remember, as if in a dream, walking down the aisle in front of Mother. My dress rustled around my feet with each step, and I held my bouquet of flowers in a death grip as I stood in the front, watching Mother glide gracefully down toward us. The ceremony seemed to take forever, and yet only a few moments. As if in a picture, in my mind I see Mother, resplendent in an ivory sheath with a long, beaded train and filmy veil and Tony looking dashingly handsome in his tuxedo and a nervous, but clearly ecstatic smile gazing at each other over the exchanging of the rings, with little Troy in his own small tuxedo beside me clutching at my hand.

How does love, the wonderful, happy, true love that I thought my parents shared end like this? With divorce and hurt feelings and remarriage? At the reception, I glared resentfully at Mother and Tony dancing together. They were so beautiful together, it made my heart hurt. I remembered previous times of watching Mother and Daddy dance together when we were on cruises together, but they never looked like angels waltzing down on earth. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and swallowed a huge mouthful, wrinkling my nose as the bubbles went up it, making me want to sneeze. The alcohol tingled as it hit my stomach, and I leaned up against the wall, watching the people go by. For such an important society wedding, there were not a lot of people there. In fact, I wasn't sure I knew any of them. I did know that of all Mother's old friends, very few were invited; so these must have all been people Tony knew.

As though my thoughts had summoned him, there he was in front of me, with Mother beside him. His light blue eyes were glowing, and I looked disdainfully at his long straight nose, chiseled cheekbones and chin and wide smile. Oh, Tony Tatterton was handsome, I grant you that. But in that moment I hated him like I had never hated anything, or anyone before!

"How pretty you look, Leigh," Tony said. His eyes skimmed down my figure clad in a pink dress with sweetheart neckline and long full skirt before coming back up to my face. I could almost feel his gaze on me as strongly as if he had run his fingers down my body. "What do you think, Jill?" Playfully, he caught Mother's hand and pulled her closer to his side. "Leigh is the only one here who could come close to outshining the bride."

For a moment, I saw something dark and bitter and angry in Mother's eyes as she looked first at Tony, then at me. Her lips trembled and her blue eyes narrowed slightly. Then, abruptly she seemed to see the fun in his statement.

"That's what we hope for," she said gaily. "That our children achieve more than we do."

Achieve what, came my bitter thought. Achieve more beauty? More marriages? When I was 40, should I try to get an even younger, handsomer husband than Tony? Because of my promise, I kept my mouth shut, and pulled my lips up into an unwilling smile. As Mother and Tony glided away from me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror at the side of the room. With my lips pulled back and my teeth showing, my smile looked like a grimace of pain.

When we would travel with Daddy, my Mother had instructed me on society rules. When you don't know how to answer a question, a smile will speak louder than a voice. A simple 'tell me more' will persuade others that they, and therefore _you_, are a charming conversationalist and story-teller. And, following European ideals, even a girl at my tender age of twelve is permitted a single glass of champagne at a festive occasion for toasting. That night, that horrible night of the wedding, I ignored all those rules. Oh, I kept my promise and no nasty comments came forth from my lips. But I walked away from conversations, and simply stared at well-meaning people as they asked if I was excited about living at Farthy, if I was happy about my stepfather. I refused to dance, and as I walked out of the room I took a second, and then a third glass from a passing waiter to gulp at the cold, dry champagne and shiver a little as I hid in my rooms, away from the festivities it hurt me to share.


	6. Chapter 5: Daddy

**I haven't stopped writing, but sometimes it takes me a long time to update... but thanks to all of you who read this!**

**Disclaimer: VC Andrews owns all of this, and what she doesn't own, the GW does...**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Daddy<strong>

I woke the morning after the wedding with the legacy of the unfamiliar alcohol I'd had the evening before: a pounding head, and slightly nauseous feeling like leaden butterflies in the pit of my stomach. A hot shower, and a light breakfast of toast with strawberry jam helped, and I was downstairs playing with Troy when Tony and Mother finally emerged, followed down the stairs by servants with their luggage.

_What Mother wants, Mother gets_, was my uncharitable thought as I watched them descending toward us like a regal king and queen straight out of a fairy tale. Mother had always bemoaned that she never had the chance for a real honeymoon with Daddy, so Tony was taking her on one. They were flying to St. Moritz for a fantastic winter holiday, full of skiing and skating, of fancy dinners in restaurants and crisp white sheets in a canopy bed before a roaring fireplace. I had seen the brochures; with my imagination the pictures had come to life, as though I had already lived where they would be spending that next month. No matter that their honeymoon coincided with Christmas and I would likely be spending it without either of my parents… oh no, that had not figured into anyone's plans. But I kept my mouth shut. I would dearly have loved to say something rude and biting to ruin their send-off on that clear Sunday morning. But I didn't. I let their vivid happiness and excitement influence me, and wished them nothing more than bon voyage, and safe trip as they swept out the tall, arched front doors of Farthy.

Strangely, the wedding made me feel more settled, less unhappy with myself and the world. One door had closed: my happy life with Mother and Daddy, the rich and glorious past that I had been so happy in until the end. What was facing me now was almost certain to be less warm and enjoyable, but there was no going back. Even as I stood in the bathroom at Winterhaven on Monday morning, quietly brushing my hair until it gleamed long and golden around my face, part of me knew that Mother's remarriage would gradually wipe out the divorce from people's memories… and that there were hundreds, possibly even thousands of girls who would wish to be in my place; living in a mansion, with a handsome new stepfather.

Suddenly, I felt a cold hand on my wrist and I stopped brushing my hair, looking up at surprise into the mirror. Charity stood next to me, her pale, cold hand clamped on my arm.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.

"I haven't a clue what you mean," I said shortly. The memory of the last time Charity and I spoke came into my mind, and her nearness was making me tremble with rage. I pulled my arm away and took a step back.

"I heard something interesting," she said. Her voice was pitched to carry, but the room had gone silent anyway. Everyone was looking in our direction, just as they had those weeks ago.

"My parents told me about this wedding that they went to, this past weekend. Now, whose wedding was it?" She tapped one finger against her cheek, thoughtfully. "Oh, that's right! Jillian Vanvoreen, recent divorcee, married Tony Tatterton, toy mogul and millionaire! You've been holding out on us, Leigh, not telling us about such society gossip!"

The words burst out of me before I could help it. "Tell you about what?" I snapped. My temper burst like a frayed ribbon.

"If you recall, Charity," I said, "I could not tell anyone anything! I thought all of you were my friends, and when you announced to everyone about my parents' divorce, none of you were speaking to me anymore. So who was I to tell? And why is it so important, anyway?"

My face had gone from red to white with anger, and I looked straight into her eyes, wishing I had the ability to shoot knives with just my gaze. Charity took a step backwards, surprised by the venom I had spewed forth. I suspected that no one had ever said anything to her in that tone of voice, not ever in her life! She gave a short laugh like a nervous cough.

"It is important… I mean, it's very exciting." She took a breath to compose herself before she continued. "Living with Tony Tatterton, in that house. My parents told me all about Farthinggale Manor, and it sounds incredible, it really does! And Mr. Tatterton is so handsome! It would be so exciting to have him as your father."

"Tony is not my father," I said through clenched teeth. "My Daddy, Cleave Vanvoreen, is still my father; thank you."

Charity laughed again, sounding even more nervous than before. "Don't be angry, Leigh. I'm just saying; well, it's very exciting. Look," she took another breath, clearly steeling herself for whatever she was planning to say. "We were wrong with how we were acting. All of us," she added, shooting a quelling stare at the other girls in the room. "But we're all supposed to be friends here, and you were keeping such secrets from us, we all got mad. Please forgive us, Leigh, come on." Charity smiled up at me winsomely through auburn lashes. I was saved from having to answer her by the bells ringing to warn us that we would be late for class, and we all ran from the bathrooms to class.

By the end of the week I was exhausted. Charity was many things, including a wild gossip. As rapidly as she had spread the story of my parent's divorce, the news of Mother's remarriage spread even faster. I noticed wide eyed stares from teachers, and girls I had never even spoken to before were coming up to me in the halls to smile and say a cheery hello. It was nice not to be persona non grata again, but had the effect of making me very nervous and tired. And Jenny, the one person whose opinion I cared about was still not talking to me.

But I approached the end of the week with happiness, and real joy in my heart. Daddy was back in Boston, and he was coming Friday afternoon to take me home. My real home! I dressed in his favorite dress of mine, a soft sage green dress with creamy beaded lace around the hem and ran downstairs to wait for his familiar black car with clasped hands and dancing heart. When he drove up, I fairly flew down the stairs toward him. But even as I threw myself into his waiting arms, my mind was suddenly frozen in shock. Daddy had grown old, so very very old! His hair seemed to have more silver than it did before, just a few months ago. His cheeks, once full and rosy were pale and gaunt, and his hazel eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle. Daddy, always so solid and impeccably attired seemed like an animated skeleton, with rumpled suit and shadow of a beard upon his chin. I hid my shock. I would change how he sad looked. Over the weekend I committed to putting a smile back on his face and the light back in his eyes.

But the weekend did not go exactly as I had hoped. I had never known that my Mother had made my house into a home with her exuberance and vitality, and without her there was something lacking. I peeked into her studio only once, and was instantly saddened that everything was gone. Her sketch pads, her paints and easel had long ago been moved to Farthy, and the room felt dusty and unused. I quickly shut the door again.

Oh, I tried to cheer Daddy up. I told him about school, and my projects and papers. We talked about his work, and the christening of the new ship he'd had built in Amsterdam. But there was something missing, and as I tossed and turned in my bed, back in my own room, I realized it was not a something, but a someone. Mother was present in the house, and our relationship and our thoughts; but we were both carefully trying to avoid all mention of her. Speaking of her would make her memory a near physical presence that would pain us both.

If that weekend was not a success, the following ones were better. Daddy was working in Boston the following weeks, and I cheerfully went home each Friday, hoping that this would be the weekend that Daddy would laugh again, that stout hearty laugh from the depths of his soul. I persisted through his superficial smiles and chuckles, and in the weekend before Christmas I was rewarded. As I told him about the winter concert, where our music teacher, Miss Dupont fell off the stage as she vigorously conducted the chorus he began smiled broadly and then began to laugh. I delighted in the sound of it; it reminded me of how he used to be. Of how we used to be together.

I was twelve years old, too big to sit in Daddy's lap but I curled up against his side. His body still shook with laughter and I leaned against him, feeling his amusement coming through his skin and into mine.

"It's good to hear you laugh again," I said to him. I looked up at him, at his profile. It was nothing like Tony's movie-star handsome face, but I loved it even more because it was my familiar, adored Daddy.

"There's been little to laugh about," Daddy said. "At least until now." He sighed and put his arm around me. "It's been a rough few months for us both, hasn't it?" I nodded, burrowing closer into his side, hiding my face in his shoulder.

"I've missed you," I told him, and he squeezed my shoulders gently.

"I've missed you too," he told me, in a quiet voice. That was all we needed to say to each other; we both understood everything that wasn't being said. That I would rather him than a million Tony Tattertons. That he wished everything was different. That we both missed how life used to be. But we didn't need to say anything else that night. We sat in a companionable silence, the like of which I've only known with Daddy and Jenny until it was time for me to go to bed.

Daddy's laughter did much to restore my spirit. Despite the upheaval of the past four months, my thinking was like that of a child: that life might take twists and turns, but it would always return to its normal state. I should have known better. Life is nothing if not predictable in its inpredictability.

Winterhaven, known as such an elite school for the daughters of the wealthy upper-crust was ruled with a puritanical fist. Food was filling, but never gourmet. Rooms were kept chill, to promote sturdiness of character, and bedrooms were furnished with only essentials. Essentials -according to our headmistress, Mrs. Mallory- consisted of a bed, closet, bookshelf, dresser, desk and chair per student. To make or receive phone calls, one visited the Alcove, where a single phone was installed in a small niche off the left stairwell. To discourage long conversations, there were no chair by the phone.

Every Tuesday since I had come to Winterhaven saw me huddled in the Alcove at precisely 6:30pm, waiting for Daddy's call. It didn't matter how long I had to stand, jiggling from one leg to another, wrapped in two sweaters to ward off the cold. I would never have missed that weekly phone date with him. That particular Tuesday, I was in a good mood. Christmas was on Monday, so I would leave school on Thursday night to go home. Home for the holidays, with Daddy! He had promised to arrange Christmas week off work, so we could be together the entire time. But my heart sank when I heard his voice on the other end. His laughter from the weekend was gone, and instead he sounded busy and far away. I leaned against the wall, trying desperately to understand.

"Leigh, I'm sorry," Daddy said, again and again. "I'm just so sorry. I have to work. There's a problem with one of the ships." I took a deep breath, closing my eyes to squeeze back tears.

"It's ok, Daddy. We can open presents when you get home." And it was alright. It meant that I would miss our early morning present-opening, and I was certain he'd have to work late most nights. But all that would be worth it, if I was only able to be with him at Christmas.

"No, Leigh," Daddy sighed. "The ship is docked in a New York harbor. I'm leaving now to drive there."

He kept talking, but my mind had stopped comprehending. I knew Daddy works a lot, and I understood that a broken engine is important, especially as that ship was booked for a New Year's cruise. I really did understand. But understanding that did not make up for the fact that I was upset and hurt that Daddy was going to have to leave me. And on Christmas! After he promised!

"Can't I come with you?" I asked. I was perilously close to begging.

"Leigh, I can't leave you alone in a hotel while I'm at work. And the engine room of a ship is no place to spend Christmas. I called your Grandmother in Texas, but she will be at your Aunt Mimi's. So I called to your Mother's lawyer already, and we've arranged for you to go to Farthinggale Manor."

"But Mother isn't even there," I cried. Tears were streaming down my face, shockingly hot against my cold cheeks.

"Leigh, I'm so sorry But it will still be a better option for you. You'll have a nice Christmas there, and I'll see you in January."

I had never expected Farthy to feel like home, but a certain thrill came over me as I drove through the gates Thursday night, and walked up the steps. Despite a heavy heart and my extreme disappointment I had always loved Christmas. Farthy looked even more like the fairy tale castles from Mother's mural, with lights strung around the doorways, and decorations visible through the windows. A recent snow had covered the grounds in a thick blanket of white, unmarred by even a solitary footprint. When the butler opened the doors, I caught a glimpse of a small figure sitting on the bottom stair dressed in black slacks and blue shirt, with dark eyes staring out of a pale face and dark silky hair that shone coppery in the light.

"Troy!" I dropped my bags and ran over to hug him tightly until he squirmed to get away. I hadn't been back since the wedding, so I hadn't seen him for nearly a month. I was ashamed to admit that after the wedding I put everything with the name Tatterton out of my mind, and that had included my little brother. That same little brother who was now looking at me reproachfully, arms folded and lower lip pushed out.

"I missed you," he said simply. "You went away for a long time."

"I missed you too." I tried to hug him, but he flinched away from me. "But Troy, you were alright here by yourself. You had your nanny to take care of you."

"But that's not the same as having you! You didn't even call me and it's been a long time since the wedding. You don't care about me, and Tony doesn't care about me anymore, now that he has Jillian."

Guilt rose in my throat like bile, and I swallowed. "Troy, I missed you too," I said again. "I'm sorry; I should have called you. I was with my Daddy, and that's why I didn't come to Farthy. But I thought of you a lot," I added, hoping for the mistrustful look in those dark eyes to go away.

Troy regarded me seriously for a moment, then twined his little arms around my neck for me to pick him up. I hugged him, and then started walking up the stairs slowly, being extra careful of the additional weight settled on my hip.

"Did you have a good time with your Daddy," Troy whispered in my ear.

It felt as though there was a tight band around my heart that suddenly constricted at his words. Did I have a good time. Yes, of course. But I was still sad about not being with Daddy for Christmas. Could I say that to a three year old?

"I had a good time," I said finally. "But I'm happy to see you." It wasn't a lie; right in that moment I was happy to be at Farthy.

I was angry about a lot of things, but Troy made me laugh. In the days before Christmas, he had me outside all day building a snowman with him, and snow forts. We broke, I am sure, a million rules by playing tag in the hallways of Farthy, and in the evenings we had dinner in Troy's playroom instead of the imposing dining room, and drank hot chocolate before bed.

Christmas day dawned bright and clear, and I woke up early. I lay in bed, my hair spilling over the pillow and looked around at my pretty ivory and blue room through my lashes. This was not what I'd expected for my Christmas to be like, but it was up to me to make the best of it that I could. No matter I wasn't surrounded by family; for Troy, I was family and even if I couldn't have the Christmas I wanted, at least Troy could be happy this year.

I brushed out my hair and was about to pull on my slippers and dressing gown when I caught a whiff of something through my open bedroom door; something that was not the rich smells of food cooking, or the crisp pine of the towering Christmas tree below. The scent of jasmine in the air. I ran to the hallway, not sure if my senses were right until I caught a hint of pale gold hair gleaming in the early morning light and I ran down the stairs, barefoot and still in my white cotton nightgown.

"Leigh, dear," Mother cried. She opened her arms to me, and I hugged her eagerly. Even with my hurt feelings about the divorce, about the wedding, about Daddy could not diminish the fact that I was, simply, childishly happy to have my Mother back with me for Christmas.

"We're back, Leigh dear," she whispered in my ear, over and over. "We're home."

"We came back early, so your Mother could see you for Christmas," another voice said. Tony. They were both still dressed in travelling clothes; slim, tailored black clothes that suited their fairness, and even made their travel-weariness attractive.

"Merry Christmas, Tony," I finally said. His face lit up and he smiled, charmingly.

"Merry Christmas, Leigh," he answered.


	7. Chapter 6:  A Visit from Grandma

Thanks to all of you for reading or favouriting! It makes my day!

**Disclaimer: I still don't own VC Andrews, Leigh, Tony, Troy and crew. (And particularly not Jillian.)**

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><p>Despite Mother and Tony being back for the holidays, Christmas felt flat. Oh, I had a good time with Troy, and privately, I was happy to see Mother again. But Christmas with both my parents had always been a time of fun, of presents and comfort. It seemed as though everyday was filled with visits from friends to share the easy companionship we had, and were happy to share. But here at Farthy, Mother and Tony went out often to fancy parties and left me at home alone. Or, even worse, we did have some parties that holiday. But they were so different! Those highly-hosted affairs of wealthy, jewel-bedecked people intent on consuming equal portions of champagne and malicious gossip could not hold a candle to the joyous, fun-filled gatherings I remembered from home.<p>

Outside, the lawns were still a winter fairy land, with tall fir and pine trees as dark smudges of green against the white, white snow. During the day I tried to stay outdoors as much as possible, with Troy to play with. But Tony eventually forbad Troy to accompany me on the coldest days.

"My brother has always been sickly," Tony explained one afternoon, when we had to hear Troy's wailing protests all day before his nanny Bertie put him down for a nap. "I was seventeen when he was born, and since then I've feared that one disease or another would carry him off. So I'm sorry, Leigh, but it is simply too cold to let him outside today."

I understood, and I would never have wanted Troy to be sick; and yet I resented Tony's overbearing care. Troy had been outside with me in the days leading up to Christmas, when it had been at least as cold, and he'd been fine! He'd been happy; a far cry from the angry little boy I saw now when Tony placed restrictions on him.

Tony and I had a difficult relationship. I couldn't forget my feelings of resentment toward him over the demise of my parent's marriage. But I tried to stay calm when I was around him, or to simply ignore him as much as possible. But even I could not ignore that he seemed different than he had before the wedding. On the outside, he looked the same. His thick blond hair fell in casual waves, and his face was as handsome as ever. But his cheerful, easy smiles had decreased rapidly after their return from their honeymoon and his blue eyes often seemed empty, and completely drained of emotion.

Because Tony didn't want Troy to go outside with me, I spent more time indoors with my little brother, coloring pictures and playing with his toys. I had always had a lot of toys as a child. My room back home was still peopled by dolls; dolls from all the places we had traveled to, as well as my beloved Betsy Wetsy, the Chatty Cathy who would actually talk back to me, and my Patti Playpal, who had once been my exact size, and currently still sat in the corner of my room, wearing my favorite pink dress from when I was 3. I had a dollhouse, large and multi-roomed that took up nearly an entire wall, and for years, there was a train track that ran all around not only my room, but throughout all our hallways. With those toys in my memory, I had never thought about the sheer amount of toys that Troy had; indeed, it had made perfect sense that the heir to the Tatterton empire had a full playroom the size of my old living room all to himself, but for awhile I didn't realize that he had actually designed some of the items himself.

"Oh, he didn't make the actual design," Tony told me after Troy had gone to bed and I had remarked on his toys, for the lack of anything better to say. It was the evening before I was to return to Winterhaven and we'd found ourselves alone in the study. I stared at him, surprised, that the little fire engines I had spent the last hour rolling on the floor had been designed by a three year old.

"He had the idea, and I had him describe what he wanted to some of the sculptors. They, in turn, were the ones who managed to work Troy's idea into reality. They're selling quite well in the store already," Tony added. His face was full of pride in his brother, and I wholeheartedly agreed.

"He's brilliant," I said. I was wearing a black dress with one large white flower embroidered over my left hip, and my brand new, tall black leather boots that came up to my knees. Rather than sit on the sofa next to Tony, I sat on the floor near the fireplace, legs stretched out in front of me. I flexed and pointed my toes, mesmerized by my lovely, lovely boots. I looked up to see Tony beaming at me.

"He is brilliant, and he acts so much older than his age. Except emotionally, of course. Emotionally, he is still so young, so fearful of being alone."

"Well," I said, without thinking as I turned to the fireplace, feeling my cheeks turn pink from the heat even as my back chilled, "he doesn't have to be alone. I'm here, and I want to be a good sister to him." It was an odd moment right then. Tony cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, Mother came into the room. All at once he stood up respectfully, and as I watched, a myriad of emotions chased across his face. Surprise. Pleasure. And then…the merest hint of revulsion? Before I could think too much about that, he was smiling widely again, his eyes greedily sweeping over her face, and the rich curves of her body subtly accentuated by her sable brown dress.

"Tony, darling." Mother held out her hands to him and he kissed the tips of her fingers before pulling her to him.

"Jillian." Tony smiled down at her with such intensity it made me shiver. In a moment, he made it seem that they were the only two people in the world. I could tell that my presence was forgotten as they kissed, and I slipped from the room to continue packing.

The best thing about going back to school was finally feeling like I belonged again. The holidays had served to wipe Mother's divorce and remarriage from most people's minds… and if I still had Charity circling me like a shark to plead friendship, this seemed inconsequential. I no longer despised her the way I had a few months ago, but she was certainly never going to be a friend again. So I treated her, and the rest of the girls with a quiet respect, and was relieved to find they treated me the same way. The only one who still didn't speak to me beyond ordinary politeness was Jenny; but even that didn't upset me the way it had before. I still hoped, deep in my heart that one day, Jenny and I would be friends again. I just had to be patient.

Near the end of February, a brief warm spell melted the last remnants of snow upon grounds, and as I ran from class to class in their different buildings, I took deep breaths of the crisp air, warned by the pale wintertime sunshine. Daddy, ever repentant of his work responsibilities, kept going between Boston and New York, so I saw him when I could. But since I had promised Troy I would see him any weekend I didn't have work to do, or to see Daddy, that warm Friday afternoon saw me tucked up in a limo and driving back to Farthy.

Even last year, whenever I returned home from school, I always expected things to be the same as when I left. But that weekend was a surprise, on so many levels. I thought I knew Farthinggale Manor after those few months, but that weekend I entered a different Farthy than I'd ever seen before. My new home had always been pristine, opulent and spotless, populated only by Mother and Tony, with Troy staying in his own rooms. But this time, the house was a flurry of activity. Maids scurried around, frantically dusting and shining already spotless tables and chairs, straightening curtains and fluffing cushions. I wandered upstairs to find Mother, dashing from room to room. Her color was high leaving bright pink patches on her cheeks, which only served to make her hair look more luminous and her eyes even bluer.

"Leigh! Oh, Leigh dear, there you are!" She gave me a brief hug, and then stepped away, running a distressed hand over her hair. "Something terrible has happened!"

Instantly, I thought of Daddy. Had something happened to him? My bag slid off my shoulder to thump against the ground at my feet, and I grabbed her hand.

"Your grandmother is coming to visit," Mother announced in a flat, doom-laden voice. And oh, I understood everything. Grandma Jana had always brought out the worst in Mother. For reasons I never understood, they had never gotten along. Neither one had ever told me what it was they didn't like about each other, but every visit from her brought out Mother's worst, angry side.

As for me, I had no problems with her. Grandma Jana was a tiny, wispy scrap of a woman, with a leather tough attitude and sharp tongue that belied the delicacy of the pale blonde hair and blue eyes Mother and I had inherited from her. She was different from Mother, so very different from anyone else I knew in Boston. But I had often visited her on her ranch in Texas during the summers and I loved her dearly. My Grandma was the one who taught me to ride my first pony, and who encouraged me to climb trees and play in the mud… all the unladylike behaviors Mother deplored. Sometimes, I wondered where Mother had learned her airs from. It certainly wasn't from _her _Mother.

The deep gong of the front door rang, and Mother scattered to primp one final time. I ran down the stairs to answer the door, even before Curtis could get there and flung the doors open.

"Grandma!" I cried, throwing my arms around her. She hugged me back, hard, before drawing back to look at me.

"Well, look at you. My granddaughter is growing up, becoming a young woman. But what is that you're wearing?"

I shrugged, looking down at myself. I was wearing a pink dress with a ribbon-edge flounced hem that fluttered as I moved.

"I like it," I answered. "And it's a winter dress, Grandma. See," I said, rubbing the fabric of my skirt against her fingers, "its cashmere, so it's very warm, really!"

Grandma narrowed her eyes at my bare knees. I wore my favorite high boots, the tan ones with the flowers embroidered up the sides in shades of brilliant pinks and violets and blues, but no stockings. "It's so cold up here in Boston, I don't know how you wear such flimsy little things. Now, let me come into this house.

"My," Grandma's eyes cast a quick look around, "it's like a museum in here." I swallowed down a giggle. I had forgotten the realities of Grandma's sense of humor and swift tongue. "Where is that daughter of mine?"

On cue, Mother descended gracefully down the stairs. Her pink dress, close in color to mine was high necked, and the hem was a soft ivory lace. Glittering on her ears, and around her neck were the diamonds Tony had bought her for Christmas.

"Jillian. You're looking well." Grandma's voice stated that she felt it would be justice for just the opposite to be true, and that vaguely resented Mother was radiant in her pink dress and her diamonds.

"As are you," Mother said, inclining her head regally. As she stood there, Tony and Troy came up behind her, and she formally introduced Grandma to her new family.

"You have to see the house," Mother said. Still standing on the stairs with Tony behind her she looked very intimidating.

Tony smiled, charmingly. "Come, Jana," he said descending the last step. "Curtis will see your bags to your rooms. We'll all take you on a tour."

And tour we did. Grandma took in everything, from Mother's murals in the music room, to the beautiful wallpapers, velvety plush carpets and gleaming floors, and didn't say a word until we ended up at her door.

"That's a mighty impressive house, Mr. Tatterton."

"Tony, please," he interrupted with a smile.

"Tony." Her lips quirked into the semblance of a smile. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired after a long day of travel. If my daughter will help me get settled?" Grandma flashed her blue eyes to Mother, who stood frozen… and then more frozen still as Tony took his leave, shuttling Troy with him.

"Leigh, dear, I'll see you at dinner." Grandma brushed her lips, soft and slick with her normal peach lipstick over my cheek before throwing open her doors and storming in.

"Jillian!" she called imperiously and Mother, unfrozen at last, scurried in her wake.

I never knew what happened between Mother and Grandma in that hour, but when we met at the dinner table, everything felt very strained. Tony smiled at Grandma, asking her questions about how she ran the ranch, and the various horses she had bought lately for it. Troy sat, miserably poking at his salad and chicken. I knew he hated when he had to sit at the table with the grownups, and I tried to catch his eye and slip him a smile.

"How long are you planning to stay," Mother suddenly broke in, interrupting Grandma's description of a pair of new bay horses she had bought.

"I haven't thought about it," Grandma said, neatly wiping her mouth and leaning back in her chair.

"When is your return ticket for?" Mother asked, a hard edge creeping into her voice.

"I bought an open ticket," Grandma responded. "I can stay a few days, or a few weeks."

Silence followed her words. Tony, Troy and I had our heads swiveled in Mother's direction, as attentive as though we were watching a tennis match to hear what her response would be.

Mother stood up gracefully from the table. "If you will all excuse me? I don't seem to have much of an appetite." She swept out of the room, without a backward glance. I looked at Grandma, and saw a small, pleased smile on her face before she looked back down at her plate.

Troy had been pestering me, week after week since Christmas to take him out horseback riding, and I had promised that when the weather grew warm, we would go. That Saturday morning, I was awakened by a small, tentative knock on my bedroom door, which opened immediately after to show Troy peering into my room.

"Leigh? Are you awake?"

I sat up, brushing back my hair from my face and smiling. "I'm awake now" I called, and my little brother ran in the room and jumped up onto my bed.

"Can we go riding today, Leigh? Please," he begged. "You said when it was warm out, and it's warm today!"

"And sunny," I remarked, squinting in the sunlight streaming in the window. It looked like today was going to be a beautiful day; one of those warm winter days that Mother Nature reserves to remind us that summer will come again, even during the height of winter.

"I think riding would be perfect," I said. "Let's get dressed, and have some breakfast and then we can go."

But it took longer than I'd expected to get ready. Grandma, always an early riser was at breakfast and took the time to ask me about school and my friends. Tony, also at breakfast, cheerfully interrogated me about where Troy and I would ride, and cautioned me to be careful.

"Remember," he said, "Troy has only just started horseback riding, and isn't really comfortable yet."

"It's fine," I answered stiffly. "I thought we'd go for a short ride, and I'll hold him on the horse with me. He won't be alone there."

"But you've never done that before, have you?" Tony persisted. He flashed his lightening quick smile at me, but I refused to smile back.

"My granddaughter is a born horsewoman," Grandma said proudly, resting her hand on mine. I squeezed her hand, grateful for her support. "When she visited me last year, I even trusted her teaching beginning riding lessons to my neighbor's children. She can be trusted with Troy."

Tony looked at both of us, and then smiled. "It's those eyes," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "You have the same eyes as Jillian. And I can't deny anything to those eyes.

"Leigh, you have my blessing to take Troy riding." Troy whooped with glee and ran from the table to get dressed.

Grandma and I returned upstairs, and she helped me brush my hair after I got dressed.

"I had hair like this," she said, as she gently smoothed the brush down my pale gold hair, teasing out the tangles. "Long ago, my hair was as beautiful as yours." I laughed, a little giddy with the joy of having my Grandma with me. Every time I saw her, she always said the same thing. "Goodness, child, your hair has gotten so long!" I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations of her fingers weaving my hair into a long braid down my back. When she finished, she put her arms around me and hugged me, tight.

"It's been a lot of changes for you since I saw you last year. Are you happy here, Leigh?" she whispered in my ear.

I hesitated. "I'm not unhappy," I said finally. "Farthy is very big, and very grand… And I've always wanted a little brother," I gamely continued, biting my lip. Deliberately, I didn't mention Tony.

Grandma nodded, her cheek pressed against mine. And that's how we were when Mother walked in a moment later.

"Leigh, dear…" Mother paused in the doorway of my sitting room, and Grandma and I both turned to her.

"Why, Leigh dear, you're dressed for riding," Mother said. Her blue eyes raked over my cream colored fitted jacket and dark jodhpurs, my helmet beside me on the vanity.

"Very good, Jillian," Grandma said. "I see these half day naps of yours don't dull your intellect." Mother frowned at her, crossing her arms. Even having just woken up, dressed in a peach negligee and matching mules, with her hair soft and loose, still her face was flawlessly made up. She frowned a little harder, a crease appearing between her eyes.

"I'm surprised Leigh is going riding, today of all days," she said. "After all, Mother, you are here, and I was certain Leigh would want to spend time with her Grandmother."

The look she gave me then was both angry, and pleading. I understood what she was saying, without saying it. She wanted me to stay inside today, to stay with Grandma so Mother would not have to worry about occupying her. But I had promised Troy. And I was looking forward to riding. Ever since I was a little girl, I had been on ponies, both in Texas and at home in Boston; and because of my anger about Mother and Tony and Daddy, I hadn't been riding for a long time.

"Nonsense," Grandma said. "I don't mind my granddaughter going out for a ride. It gives me a chance to talk to my daughter." Seemingly unconcerned by the terror in Mother's eyes, Grandma kissed my cheek, handed me my helmet and pushed me out my room in one swift movement.

Bang! The door shut behind me. Before I had even taken a step, I could hear voices raised on the other side.

"It's time for you to explain yourself and your behavior, Jillian." Oh, Grandma's voice was cutting, and I winced. And then, despite myself, I huddled closer to the door, pressing my ear against the crack to listen. A long time ago it seemed, I had been raised to know right from wrong… and I knew what I was doing then was wrong, so very, very wrong, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what Grandma was going to say; if she was going to ask Mother why she had divorced Daddy (who Grandma had always liked), if she was going to say something about Tony… So I listened, and could hear their voices, faint and angry through the heavy wooden door.

"You leave me to hear about this whole situation from Tallulah and Mimi's gossip?" Grandma was yelling. "You didn't think to tell me yourself?"

"I knew my sisters would tell you. And that you would tell me I was wrong." Mother sounded sulky, and I could picture her pacing in my sitting room, cheeks pink with shame and irritation, twisting her fingers around and around.

"Damn right I think you're wrong. You were happy when you married Cleave all those years ago. Became a businessman's wife, married to one of the oldest names in America, and tried to forget your roots of a simple Southern girl. You always put on airs, Jillian. 'No, I won't clean the stables. It'll ruin my nails.' 'No, I can't stay outside to exercise the horses. My complexion, in all that sun!' I should never have introduced you to Cleave, but I did, and you married him and ran away to live your spoilt, privileged life."

"You did nothing for me!" Mother screamed suddenly. "You never understood me, and you never loved me! You resented my beauty, wished it was yours instead! And you never understood the things my soul yearns for, just because they're different from what you know!"

Grandma snorted. "Your beauty is meaningless, my girl. Beauty is skin-deep, and fades with each passing year. Look at me," she commanded. "Once, I was as young as you, Jillian, and I was every bit as beautiful. And see where it has gotten me? Widowed these years since your father died. If it wasn't for my strength, and my work at running the ranch, we would have had nothing!

"Your soul," she continued sarcastically, "yearns for money and beauty, power and prestige. You were the youngest and your father spoiled you. You trade off your looks and have never leaned the benefit of hard work. I don't know how I raised such a spoilt, selfish child! You have never learned to love anything but yourself, and I pity your husbands, both of them, for loving your image and never knowing the lack of a person it conceals."

My knees were shaking, and my stomach was tied in knots. I backed away from my door, but not before I heard Mother's whispered response, her soft voice gruff with pain.

"I love Leigh," Mother said, softly. I could hear the tears in her voice, and unconsciously, I began to blink my own eyes to hold back my own tears. "I love my daughter."

I have never thought I would be so grateful for the carpeting in Farthy's hallways, as I ran to Troy's rooms. The air cooled my hot cheeks, and by the time I was at Troy's door, I had managed to blink the tears from my eyes, and smile down at him when he excitedly flung open the door.

"I've been waiting!" he cried, holding his arms up to me.

"No, Troy," I said laughing a little, reaching out instead to hold his hand as we walked down the hallway, out the back doors closest to the stables. "I'm not carrying you today."

His little voice, childish and piping both soothed my soul and grated on my nerves as the grooms helped us onto my horse, Pansy, and I put my arms around Troy to grip the reigns. In his few moments of silence, I kept reliving the fight I'd heard between Grandma and Mother. But then his excited chatter would start up again, and I would try to listen as he made up stories about the trees, and the wind, and told me stories he remembered Tony had told him about past Tatterton ancestors.

But finally a moment came when even my little brother fell quiet and the voices I wanted to forget came back to me. Mother's tear-filled admission that she loved me played over and over in my mind, until I thought I would scream. In frustration, in trying to forget, I did what was natural to me when I was riding. I shifted my weight forward and immediately the horse began to trot faster, then canter, and then into a smooth, ground eating gallop. It felt like flying, flying over the dead grass underfoot and through the trees. Flying into the cool winter air, that felt much colder when we were moving so quickly through it. My mind cleared, and I felt my anxiety lessen until I heard a small sob, looking down to see Troy still resting against me, face screwed up in fear, tears welling up in his eyes. Immediately I stopped, just in time for him to burst into noisy sobs.

"Troy!" I cried. I sat back and Pansy slowed to a walk, her hooves making soft thumps beneath us. As soon as I could, I climbed off, then lifted Troy down after me. He was still crying, his dark eyes welling tears and his small face wrinkled up in agony.

"Troy, what's wrong?" I asked. I asked over and over, but he didn't answer until I finally sat down at the base of a tree, and pulled him into my arms. In story books, this would have been the time to croon a song, but even though I loved to sing, I couldn't carry a tune if it were in a bucket. I patted his back, whispering 'it's ok, it's ok, it's ok,' until Troy finally stopped crying.

"I was scared," he finally whispered. "We were going really fast."

"Troy, I'm sorry," I said. "I just wanted… I love how it feels when I ride. I love feeling that I'm flying away from my problems." I brushed my fingers through his hair, feeling his breathing slow. "I've been so sad, Troy, and I was trying to run away from what made me sad. I'm sorry I scared you."

One little finger traced the tear that fell down my cheek, and I looked down at my little brother. His eyes, huge and dark were looking into mine seriously.

"Why are you sad?" he asked.

I sighed. "There are a lot of things that make me sad. I'm sad that my Mother and my Daddy don't live together anymore. I'm sad that my Daddy is so far away, and I can't see him. I'm sad because even though Farthy is nice, it's not my home."

Troy's fingers, small and cold, twisted around mine. "Are you sad about me?"

"Oh, no," I said. I hugged him close to me, and he rested his head against my shoulder. "I've always wanted a brother. Troy," I said, meaning every word, and hoping that despite his tender years, he could understand, "you are the only thing that makes me really happy. I love having you for a little brother."

I don't know what suddenly prompted me how late it was. We had left in the early afternoon, and it had been a long ride, even without my burst of speed. Around us, the light was fading, and the trees being dark, ominous shadows around us. I quickly stood up, and got us back on Pansy to start the ride home.

We had ridden perhaps quarter of an hour in silence when Troy finally spoke. "I was sad too, when Tony said he was marrying Jillian, so I could have a new Mommy. But I'm not sad now," he said confidentially.

"Why aren't you sad?," I asked. Hoping that Troy was so occupied with talking that he wouldn't notice, I urged Pansy a little faster. It was getting darker, and so much colder that our breath was coming out in white puffs when we spoke, and I knew it would be almost fully night before we got back.

"Tony asks me every night what I want, a brother or a sister. But I said that I have you, so I don't need another sister. A brother will be good.

"So you don't have to be sad, Leigh! Soon you'll have me, and a new brother to make you happy."

A baby… a new brother. The idea had never occurred to me. It made sense. People get married, and they have children. But I had never thought of Mother… of Mother and Tony…!

The world slowed with Troy's words. The only sensations that of the wind streaming past us, and the ever-darkening woods; of Troy's slight weight leaning against me and Pansy's hooves striking the ground beneath us.

So soon, much sooner than I'd expected, we were back at Farthy. Nervous stable hands instantly surrounded us, and Tony ran over.

"Leigh! Troy! I was so worried!" Tony lifted Troy down, and then returned to help me. The cold hit me abruptly once I was off Pansy's warm back, and I shivered. Just then, Troy sneezed. It was a small sneeze, but Tony reacted in an instant, frantically issuing commands for Troy to be taken inside, and put into a warm bath.

"Leigh, I trusted you," Tony said later. I was perched on a chair next to Grandma in Troy's room, watching anxiously as my little brother sat up in bed, with a thermometer in his mouth. Tony paced back and forth. His pale blue shirt was mussed, and his collar standing up as he walked.

"I didn't mean for us to come back so late," I protested. "We were riding, and stopped to talk…" I bent my head so my hair fell into my face. So many thoughts were flying around my head, so many feelings running riot through my body. Grandma put her arm around my shoulder, and I leaned against her gratefully. It was so nice to feel someone was there for me.

"If I know my granddaughter," Grandma said, "she got so caught up with riding, she didn't even notice the time." She stood up then, taking the thermometer from Troy's mouth to check his temperature.

"Troy is fine," she announced. "Tony, you worry too much."

Tony stopped mid-step and looked around the room frantically. "Where is Jill?" he demanded. "She is Troy's mother; she should be here."

Grandma's lips quirked into something which could have been a smile. "Oh, Jillian doesn't do illness," she answered flippantly.

"Tony, you worry too much," she repeated. "Troy needs a good night sleep, and he'll be fine. And I," she continued, "will be here to help out until he feels better." Grandma held up her hand to stop what she was certain Tony would say, and shook her head. "No, no, don't say a word. It's not too much to ask. I'm family to the child; so the least I can do is to stay until he is healthy."

Grandma stayed at Farthy for the next two weeks, even though as she'd predicted, Troy was fine after a restful night. Over the next two weekends, I watched her with Mother. They were on polite speaking terms; but I knew both of them, and knew that they would never have apologized to each other for the angry words exchanged in that fight. I wanted to side with Mother… after all, she was still my Mother. But my sympathies lay with Grandma. She had spoken the truth. Mother was spoilt and selfish, and I pitied Daddy for not having realized that long ago, and pitied Tony for not having realized it soon enough.

But I found myself thinking about that day for a long time. I thought about hearing Mother and Grandma fighting, about Troy telling me that Tony was promising him a baby brother. I thought about it as winter faded and turned to spring, and onto summer. Everything in my world was changing, and I wasn't sure I knew how to live with everything.


	8. Chapter 7: Summer Holidays

Thanks to everyone for reading! Hope you're all enjoying it… and please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Leigh, the Tattertons, the Vanvoreens or Farthy… well, any of it, really.

* * *

><p>The end of the school year came, both quicker and slower than I'd expected. Each weekend found me at Farthy, playing with Troy and trying to avoid Mother and Tony as much as I could. Often, it was very easy. Tony worked quite a lot that spring. He traveled frequently to Europe to discuss trends in toy sales, and to discover new dolls and miniatures that young, talented artisans were producing.<p>

Even on the weekends, Mother rested until noon, and then spent hours shopping and playing bridge with her society friends. In the beginning, she often had me come with her; but rapidly the invitations were withdrawn. I had no patience with bridge and often forgot the card values, so was useless as a partner. Also, though she never said it, I think she grew embarrassed to admit that I was her daughter. It destroyed the image if careless youth she tried so hard to project… The final straw was when Mimi von Astenberg asked rather carelessly about my age, and then even more carelessly asked if Mother had been a child bride? Mother's brittle, tinkling laugh was her only reply, but by then the damage was done. She rarely invited me out with her after that, unless we were shopping alone. And honestly, I couldn't have cared less. The evenings I didn't spend with her, were spent in the small movie theater Mother had ordered added onto Farthy, and I sat by myself in the darkness, luxuriating in the red velvet seats and watching movie after movie. I watched Gidget learn to surf over and over, until I could recite the movie word for word.

Troy grew two inches in a wild growth spurt, and then promptly caught the chicken pox, followed by pneumonia. On weekends, I would do my homework in his rooms while he slept, and then we would play quiet board games when he was awake, or I would sit with him so he wouldn't have dinner alone; as I knew he so often did because Mother could not bear to eat with him when he was sick and fretful. When Tony was there, he would stop in to check on us, but I preferred it when he left again. In my heart, I could not feel the same about him after remembering Troy's earnest confession about Tony talking about a sibling. If I could have gotten Mother alone, in one of the private moments we used to share I could have asked her about the veracity of that statement… but Mother was a fluttering, elusive creature, and the rest of winter, and then spring passed without my questions being asked.

At the beginning of June, I found myself bouncing from one leg to another as I sweated in the Alcove. It was an unseasonably warm spring that year, almost summer-like in the intensity of the sun. Daddy never missed our weekly phone date, and despite not having seen him for over a month, despite being so hot that the waistband of my skirt was damp with the sweat that trickled down my back, I was in a good mood that day.

"School is almost over," I reminded him. "Will you be back in Boston soon? I miss you."

There was a slight pause, just enough to alert me that Daddy had some sort of secret to share. "I have to travel to Spain at the end of June," he said. "We're researching a new port location, and I will go out on a trip to look around. It'll be a long time, Leigh. About a month, it seems."

"Oh, that's nice," I said slowly. "We've never been to Spain. It's supposed to be very pretty. When are you going?"

"Well," Daddy said, slowly. "About mid-June. We leave on the fourteenth."

I fought to keep down a wave of sadness. My birthday was the seventeenth. Daddy had never been away on my birthday before… and this was a big one. My thirteenth birthday! The one I'd been looking forward to, even since I was ten and had hit double digits. Thirteen meant the time had come for me to put aside childish things, and assume my new status as Leigh Diane Vanvoreen, Woman and Teenager.

"Leigh," Daddy said. "I was waiting to tell you about the trip until I talked to the lawyers, but I have a surprise for you, if you want it. Would you like to come with me?"

Feelings warred inside me; worry that something would come up, yet again, that would disappoint me, and yet pleasure at the thought of spending a few weeks with just Daddy. He hadn't forgotten my birthday! I could have sung with happiness.

"I wasn't sure you would want to," Daddy said, when I still hadn't spoken a few moment later. "I know it means that you wouldn't have a birthday party… at least not of the type you've always had. I know that your Mother" -he choked for a moment- "always had big plans for your thirteenth birthday."

Birthday parties! What did I care about a silly party?

Deep in my heart, I was a little sad. Ever since I was a little girl, Mother had planned what would type of party she would give me for my thirteenth birthday. The only ones more special, in her opinion would be my sweet sixteen, and then my eighteenth. But what did I care about a silly party?

Still. I couldn't say I would be that disappointed by that. Who would I want at a party, anyway? Jenny, who still avoided me? Charity and her hanger-ons, who were only polite because Mother had married Tony?

"No, I don't mind that," I said. "In fact, I'd love it! When do we leave?"

School ended on the 10th, and the 14th saw me packed and waiting for the car to bring me to the docks. Mother hung on me, smoothing my hair, and touching my cheeks, searching for more jewelry or cosmetics for me to take.

"Mother, I don't need anymore jewelry," I said, trying to evade her fingers patting down my hair. "I can already be the cause of why the ship sinks, with just the number of necklaces you've lent me."

"I can't help it," Mother said. "This is the first trip you've ever gone on where I wasn't with you. And I will miss your birthday! Your thirteenth birthday, and for the first time, I can not plan you a party!"

"Your mother is feeling her age," Tony joked. He looked back at his newspaper, and missed seeing a little frown line appeared between Mother's brows.

It seemed like it had been forever since I was on a boat, and yet my body remembered it. Remembered the minute movements I had to make to keep my balance, and the tang of the sea air. I snuggled down in my bunk at night, next door to Daddy's room. In the mornings, I ran out to the deck still in my pajamas to breathe in the sea air, and call good morning to the sea gulls before dressing for the day.

Daddy always seemed different on the ship. His face relaxed, his smiles were easier and he laughed often, even when solving problems with the boiler, or supervising in the kitchens. Because he seemed so much calmer and happier, I felt better. Within only a few days, I felt normal. I felt as though I was becoming myself again. A single glimpse in the mirror showed that my normally pale skin was becoming a delicate golden honey, and my eyes were bright with laughter. I found fun in everything aboard the ship, and shared jokes with the entire crew and the passengers.

All my life, it seemed, I'd always had people to do things for me. We'd always had a private chef to prepare our meals, and servants to bring them to us. We had maids to clean everything, even my own room and toys. At Farthy, there was even a butler to open doors, and chauffeur; things we had never had space for at home.

When I was a little girl, I had shadowed the maid, and hung around the kitchen to watch our chef, Watson preparing meals. It seemed like magic; a special brand of magic that existed in storybooks of girls my age doing chores, finding the time between schoolwork and playing with friends to cook and clean, and take care of their siblings. But I'd never experienced such things. Mother felt that she was beyond such menial labor as taking care of a household; and thus I, too, had none of those responsibilities. But this trip, freed from Mother's watchful eye, I realized some dreams. I ran errands for the crew, and cleaned vegetables in the kitchen. I helped the maids with straightening rooms, and the nurses at the childcare station on board. And I could not remember the last time I had been so happy!

"Leigh," Daddy said, on the eve of my thirteenth birthday as we were getting ready for dinner.

"Yes?" I asked. I was hastily brushing my hair before dinner, and I smiled at him. Daddy's cheeks were already rosy and tanned, just like my own, and he had a small smile hovering around the corners of his lips.

"Leigh, I am not certain your Mother would approve of how you are acting this trip."

I put my brush down and turned to him. I knew full well Mother would not have approved. In her eyes, I would have seemed no better than staff on board the ship; and as the daughter of the company's owner, not to mention step-daughter to Tony Tatterton, I deserved to be known as such. But this trip was about something else. I was no longer a little girl. I was a woman, or would be in a few short hours, and I was capable of making my own decisions and setting my feet on the path I wished to walk, unfettered by Mother's ridiculous wishes. Out there, with the constant smell of the sea in my nostrils, and the rocking beneath my feet, I felt closer to Daddy and his world; closer to being purely happy, the way I had been for the first twelve years of my life before everything became so different.

"Daddy," I said. How to begin? "I know Mother would not be happy at some of the things I have been doing, but I'm so… happy. I love doing things to help. And," I continued proudly, "this company is part of my heritage too. I can't fix boilers and regulate the steam room the way you do, but I want to do the things I can to help make the customers happy."

Daddy opened his arms and I ran into them to give him a hug. I could smell his cologne, rich and subtle, with the scent of the sea beneath it, and the beating of his heart within the warmth of his embrace.

"I am so proud of you," he whispered. "I am so proud of you, and I am so happy you are my daughter."

"Thank you," I murmured. When I pulled my head away from his shoulder, I saw the tear stains I had made. Until that moment, I hadn't even realized I was crying.

All the same, I vowed to never tell Mother about the work I was doing on the ship.

It became evident the following morning that Daddy had told everyone that today was my birthday. The passengers all found time to drop by and wish me happy birthday, and compliment Daddy on how wonderful I was, what a credit I was to him. The chef created a "Leigh Special" for breakfast, and at each table I saw people enjoying my traditional birthday breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and raspberry jam.

"It's too much," I told Daddy, even though I couldn't help smiling as I ate heartily. "I can't believe you did all this."

"It's not every day my girl turns thirteen," Daddy said, smiling back at me.

Suddenly, I heard someone whisper, 'happy birthday' close to my ear.

I tilted my head up, and looked into eyes so dark they seemed black, set in a in a movie-star handsome face. He had a strong chin with a cleft, heavy eyebrows and a straight nose and high cheekbones. All I could do was stare. He smiled at me, straight white teeth gleaming and a dimple winking in and out of his cheeks. I managed a tepid smile in response and a whispered thank you before he disappeared.

"That's Joshua," Daddy said. My mind felt it was in a fog and I stared at him for a moment before I remembered to blink.

"Who is he?" I asked. I feigned interest in my breakfast again.

"He's the son of the captain," Daddy replied. "He's been a little sick since coming on board; that's why you haven't seen him. Joshua Bennington, I think his name is."

All the rest of the day, I kept seeing Joshua. Even though it was my birthday, I still helped with the cooking and cleaning that I been doing since I came on the ship, and every time I turned around, I kept seeing a flash of Joshua's dark hair, or his dark eyes watching me across the kitchen, and his smile. His smile prompted me to smile in return at him, even though my knees trembled and I felt butterflies in my stomach and a my cheeks turning hot.

At dinner that night, Daddy ordered a cake and we stayed to dance before turning in to bed. I'd been to parties at Farthy, and parties my parents had hosted long ago, and even at balls on the ship before… but I'd never had one given in my honor .

The cake was delicious, and then we went to the ballroom to dance. I had never danced so much! I had stepped into a storybook… I'd fantasized about being Cinderella, and now here I was living that fantasy, dressed in a thin white silk dress with straps that crisscrossed over my back, and glittered with crystal beads where they met the bodice. The neckline cut low enough to make my light golden tan more obvious, and was snug against my stomach before flaring out at my hips. The hem swirled about my knees as I danced with partner after partner. My hair had been caught up in a sophisticated updo that was very unlike me, but I thought complimented the dress. Eventually even the battery of pins I'd used were not enough to hold it, and my hair fell in a long wave down my shoulders. It felt, I thought giddily, as I spun and twirled with Daddy, as silky as my dress.

"Mr. Vanvoreen? Sir?" A voice, eerily familiar tickled by ear and I looked up into dark eyes that were so suddenly familiar.

"Ah," Daddy said, seeing Joshua's shy smile, "I see I have to relinquish you to other partners."

There are no words to describe how I felt moments later, to find myself dancing with Joshua. He looked wonderfully dashing and handsome in his dark suit, his hair waving back from his face and smile around his lips. And I should have felt wonderful, waltzing in his arms. But somehow… suddenly, I felt silly; which was, of course ridiculous. After all, I was thirteen today. I was a woman! But in that moment, with my hair fluttering loose over my shoulders, and staring up at the handsomest boy I had ever seen in my life outside of a movie screen, I had never felt more like a child.

"You aren't smiling anymore," Joshua said. He was so tall that my arms were beginning to hurt from being stretched up to his shoulders, but I wouldn't have moved them for anything.

"I'm sorry," I said contritely. From somewhere, channeling Gidget, perhaps, came a saucy response.

"Do you want me to smile for you, Joshua?"

"You know my name!" he exclaimed, sounding rather pleased. "And yes, certainly, I want you to smile. This is the first time I've ever been with Dad on one of the cruises he was captain for, and I've been sick since I stepped on board. But what made me start to feel well again was when I saw an angel running around with a duster to help the maids clean the rooms." I stared at him, uncomprehendingly, and almost stepped on his foot.

"An angel with a beautiful smile, and long blonde hair. I thought I would give anything to see that angel smile at me, and not just at the duster," Joshua continued, teasingly. I continued to stare at him.

"Me? An angel?" I asked. My voice squeaked, and I thought that I had never felt less angel-like. I had never felt less human, even.

"Yes, you," Joshua said, laughing. His laugh was gentle and musical. "When I asked Dad about you, he said that you are Leigh, and the owner's daughter. I realized that if I wanted to meet an angel in real life, I had better start feeling better."

We danced in silence for a moment before I found something to say.

"And do you feel better now?"

"Smile for me," Joshua mock-commanded. I smiled, tentatively, then wider when he grinned back.

"I feel better every moment," he said as he walked me back over to Daddy at the end of our dance. "I'll see you tomorrow, Leigh. Happy birthday."

Daddy's trips were not usually a month long, but this was special. We sailed to Spain, then stayed in a hotel while the boat took the passengers back, and then returned with a new set of passengers in a few weeks to bring us back. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Joshua had already spoken to Daddy, and had arranged to stay with us in Spain for the entire time, even though his Dad would be sailing back with the crew. While we were on the ship, we spent a lot of time together. He often came over to help when I was working, and sat with Daddy, the captain and me at dinner every evening. I found out that he was fifteen, just two short years older than I was. He was studying to be an engineer, and dreamed of building new ships and engines. Daddy thoroughly liked him and found him an interesting dinner companion and a good friend for me.

I was confused about what I felt for him. With every day that passed, I grew to like Joshua a little more. He was like a wind; strong and forceful, and yet often playful and teasing as well. I liked how he tipped his head to the side when he was thinking, and how his laughter was so infectious that even before I knew the joke I was already chuckling.

As the days passed, I started feeling different. Sometimes I felt sick. My stomach clenched and I was almost sick and shaky just at thinking of talking to him. Seeing his eyes narrow in thought, or hearing the sound of his voice made my heart leap. But when I relaxed and didn't think too much about things, I realized that I enjoyed being with him. Instead of thinking about how nervous he made me feel sometimes, I concentrated on how much I liked talking to him, how much he made me laugh and the fun we had together.

Because Joshua was fifteen, and a tall, strong fifteen at that, when we docked in Spain, Daddy trusted him to visit the beaches with me, and to go sightseeing when he had business meetings and couldn't take me around himself. Those days were a blur. We strolled the streets together, soaking up the hot summer air and bright, bright sun as we took in the sights. We ate in restaurants together trying local cuisine, and at night stood on the balcony of our hotel suite listening to the Spanish voices of nearby people become melodies in the rich summer air.

Perhaps we had been in Spain for a week, when we turned to our hotel and found Daddy was out late at a business meeting. It was late, but not so late I wanted to go to bed, and so Joshua and I stood outside on the balcony, enjoying the balmy summer air. Above us the sky looked like coal, spotted with diamonds. I threw my head back, watching the stars and was surprised to feel Joshua's fingers on my chin, pulling my eyes from the heavens and my gaze toward his.

"Leigh… I must be crazy to do this." His voice, normally so smooth and gentle was gasping as though he'd been running, and his breath was ragged. "But I've wanted to do this… so please forgive me."

And he kissed me.

His lips were soft on mine, and I was lost in sensations that I'd never felt. The nervousness I'd sometimes felt around Joshua solidified into a pleasurable flutter, and inside I felt as warm as though I'd been floating suspended in salt water, warmed by the sun. He broke off the kiss to look at me, but I couldn't bear to stop. He seemed surprised when I twined my arms around his neck, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him back.

His arms tightened around my waist, his hands curving onto my hips to pull me closer as we kissed and kissed and kissed.

"I wasn't sure I should do that," he whispered later when we finally broke apart.

"I didn't know I wanted you to do that until you did," I admitted. His arm was around me and I couldn't stop smiling.

"I think I love you," I whispered.

"I know I love you," he replied. "I shouldn't… you're so young. And who knows when we will see each other again after this trip. But somehow I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you."

The amount I had been with Joshua at before was nothing compared to how much we were together after that. Daddy didn't mind. He liked Joshua as much as I did, and while I am sure he disliked his little girl with any boy, he did tacitly approve of Joshua's attentions to me. Every little thing we said to each other was imbued with the new meaning of us being in love, and I dreamed of him at night when we were in our separate rooms. I loved it when we kissed, and every inch of my body trembled when I thought about how those kisses felt with his arms tight around me and my fingers sliding up his back before tangling into his thick dark hair… and I woke up each morning, wanting to be closer and closer to him.

Was this what if was like to be in love? That feeling that you wanted to be with someone, wanted to be with someone so much that it pained you to be apart? That you wanted to laugh and talk and kiss them, every single moment that you could?

We left Spain and sailed back when the ship returned with us. As happy as I had been on the trip to Spain, the return was more incredible. Joshua still helped me with the work and errands I did on the ship, and every so often we would kiss… Before long, each corner of the ship had a special memory devoted to us. The linen closet where he lifted me onto a shelf so we could be the same height and I didn't have to tiptoe to kiss him. The kitchen, when he sneaked up on me washing potatoes to kiss the back of my neck.

I knew Joshua was my first boyfriend. Maybe my last? Could love last forever? Was this the type of romance Mother had with Daddy? I tried not to think about Mother, and how her capacity for love seemed so directly related to personal gain, and concentrated on simply being thirteen and so in love. I think Joshua felt the same way that I did. In between kisses and talking about our lives and families and schools and dreams, we made plans for how to see each other again.

For so long, it had felt that I was just existing, being pulled and pushed according to everyone else's whims. Mother's divorce and rapid remarriage. My friends, acting as though because my family life had changed, I was suddenly a different person. Even Daddy, making himself far busier than he'd ever been before to ease his heartbreak. But being with Joshua made me happy again. It made me think that love was real, really real. From Mother, I had the sense that love was fleeting and could be easily replaced… and yet now, I began to think differently.

The final morning of the trip came too soon, and I woke up unhappy for the first time in weeks. We had always known that we would inevitably have to part, but this felt too soon. I went to breakfast, and to the final docking of the boat in the Boston harbor with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes.

"Steady there, my angel," Joshua said. I spun around to look at him.

"I'll miss you," I said simply. "I'm sad to leave. It's been a wonderful trip… and you were what made things wonderful."

Joshua took me in his arms. "I feel that way too," he said. "I don't know how it feels like we could have gotten so close in just a month, but we did.

"Remember, I will always love you, Leigh," he said.

"And I will always love you too," I assured him. "Write to me, please?"

The hot Boston sun was heavier and wetter than the Spanish sun had been as passengers began to disembark. I'd worn white for this last time when I'd see Joshua, wanting him to remember me like this. It was a light and delicate cotton dress, but the cut was very similar to the dress I'd worn on my birthday. He looked at me soberly, his love clear to see deep in those dark eyes I had grown to love.

"Of course," he said. He pulled me in for one more kiss, and I lost myself in it before he pulled himself away and ran down the gangplank, turning to wave one last time before the crowds closed around him and I couldn't see him anymore.

I spent a few more days with Daddy before returning to Farthy. Part of me was miserable. I missed Joshua like a lost limb. I missed his voice and his smiles and his kisses. But the rest of me wanted to drink up my time with Daddy before he left on another trip. He was off to England again, to meet with another boiler manufacturer and then to France for new wallpaper for the staterooms.

Back at home, away from the ship, Daddy seemed different. At first, I didn't realize it, because I was so sad myself about missing Joshua. But gradually I realized that he, too, was grieving for something.

"Do you miss it when you aren't on the ship?" I asked one night.

"A little," Daddy admitted. "It's part of me, being on the water. But it's other things, too, that I miss. The companionship of the crew… people who know what is going on with my business, and my day. That's why I've been traveling so much lately, this year. It's nice to have people around."

So it wasn't a something that Daddy missed… it was a someone. We didn't have to invoke Mother's name for me to realize that he was lonely, and being with his crews made up for it.

A few days later, Daddy drove me back to Farthy on his way to the docks, and gave me a fierce hug before leaving..

"Safe trip, Daddy," I said, hugging him tight. My luggage had already been brought to up the house by the butler, and in my free hand I clutched some Spanish toys I had brought for Troy.

"I love you, Leigh," he said. He drew back for a moment, looking at me.

"You look happy," he said finally.

"I am happy," I responded. "At least I'm mostly happy."

"I'll bet a dollar that much of it was because of the Bennington boy," Daddy said, smiling.

I blushed and nodded, shyly.

"Some of it… but not everything. "You look happier too."

"It was all because of you," Daddy said, hugging me close again. I closed my eyes, wishing that I could keep traveling with Daddy, to help him keep his loneliness at bay.

"I'll miss you." As I had done as a little girl, I found myself playing with his gold lapel pin in the shape of a boat I'd given him one Christmas. I rotated it, feeling sharp edges press against the tips of my fingers.

"I'll miss you too. No trip will ever seem the same again, without you on board. But I've had you to myself the last few weeks and…" he didn't have to finish the sentence. We both knew that Mother had insisted I be at Farthy for at least some of the summer.

"It's been a bad year for us both," he said, gently. "But you… we… are both doing better now, right?"

I searched his face, looking for the sadness I knew was in there, but all I could see was his love for me, and his enthusiasm about going back to sea.

"Yes," I said, throwing my arms around him again. "Yes, we are."

I walked into Farthy to find it in a flurry of activity. It had been so relaxed on the ship, even with all the passengers, that it was very difficult to get used to this amount of commotion again. Especially because I knew that the fuss had to be about Mother. Strange, how 100 passengers on a cruise, plus 30 staff could not generate the amount of rush and confusion that my Mother, working alone, could do.

"Leigh," Mother called, hurrying down the stairs. Her hair was up in a soft chignon, and her makeup made her face was smooth and flawless, her eyes expertly shaded and her lips soft and glossy beneath her lipstick. She wore a black silk robe trimmed with ivory lace that looked almost as dressy as a ball gown.

I hadn't thought much of Mother for the past five weeks, but as she came over to me something broke in my heart. The trip had worked on me the way it doubtless worked on Daddy to wipe her from my mind, but seeing her before me, smelling her perfume made me realize how much I had missed her. I ran to her, wanting nothing more than to throw myself into her arms, and sit beside her to tell her all my news. I wanted to tell her all about Joshua, and Spain and how wonderful my trip was. Part of me also was ready for her to make a fuss about me the way she always had when I was young… and part of me expect her to hug me and say something about her little girl being grown up. After all, I was thirteen now! A teenager! And, though she didn't know it yet, a teenager with a boyfriend!

Her first words drove all thoughts out of my head.

"There you are! Your father brought you back late, as usual. I wish for once that man would think of someone other than himself." I stopped before flinging myself into her arms, and stared at her in horror, a cold sweat breaking out over my skin and my knees trembling. Daddy, not thinking of anyone else? Was Mother confusing him with herself?

"We have a dinner party to go to this evening, and they've invited the whole family. Troy isn't feeling well… again." Mother gave an irritable sniff. "That child," she muttered, "always ill. Who gets ill in the summertime?

"Anyway, please hurry and get dressed. We have to leave in thirty minutes."

And with that she swept back up the stairs, not even giving me a second glance.

Blood rushed into my cheeks, and I walked up the staircase, wishing I could be a child and pound my feet, and slam doors. But I was thirteen, and a grown up. Grown ups do not act like that; grown ups are mature and responsible, I said to myself, over and over in my mind as I rapidly dressed, put on jewelry and returned downstairs in record time.

Tony's eyes visibly widened as I walked into the living room.

"Leigh!" he cried, holding his arms out to hug me. Which he did, even though I stood stiffly, with my arms glued to my side. "You look beautiful!"

"Thank you," I said, a little self consciously. Tony's eyes were bright and appraising as he looked at me, and a broad smile lit his face.

"I would ask how your trip was, but it's clear to see it agreed with you," he said.

"Thank you," I said again. All the confidence I'd had on board the ship seemed to melt away, and I felt uncomfortable and gauche standing there. I sank down on the couch and crossed my legs.

"How was your summer so far?" I asked. Tony sat next to me and gave a rueful smile.

"Nothing like yours, I'm sure," he replied, running a hand though his thick golden hair. "Lots of work. Business trips. Parties with Jill when I was back… speaking of which." Tony got up and strode over to the staircase.

"Jill," he called. "We've got to leave. We're already nearly part being fashionably late."

"Soon, Tony darling." Mother's voice drifted down the steps at us. "I'll be ready in a moment."

"Hurry, Jill" Tony pleaded. "I'm sure you look fine. Beautiful, as ever. But if you don't hurry, we'll be late." He caught my eye as I sat primly, legs crossed on the sofa.

"Some things never change, right?" he said, shaking his head in mock amusement. "Your mother…"

"Yes," I said, without thinking. "Mother is like that. Don't you wish she was like me?"

Tony didn't speak. When I looked at him, he was staring at me as though he'd never seen me before. His eyes took in my face, and my body in the bright blue cotton dress I'd bought in a boutique in Spain, when I was out shopping with Daddy. It had a tight bodice, and a pattern of silver dots embroidered near the hem. My chest had started to develop rather suddenly, without my even noticing, and under the intensity of his gaze, I was very aware of how my budding breasts made the top of my dress tent before it slid gracefully down to my waist.

Tony's eyes narrowed to thin slits as they traveled appraisingly down my legs to take in my feet clad in my new silver sandals with the heels that were higher than any I'd ever worn, then back up to my face. I knew the bright blue of my dress highlighted my face, still honey hued from being on the beach. The mirror had told me I looked very nice, despite what Mother was likely to condemn as a very simply summer dress. But why the look on Tony's face, the sudden light in his blue eyes? My cheeks burned, and I lowered my head slightly to let my hair, sun-lightened to nearly white fell to hide my face from view.

"Yes," Tony said softly, as we heard Mother's heels clicking on the staircase. "Sometimes I do wish that."


	9. Chapter 8: A House of my Own

Thank you, to all of you reading this! I hope you're still enjoying it. Drop me a line or a review, if you are!

**Disclaimer: I do not own story, characters, etc… all property of VC Andrews, and her estate.**

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><p>Troy, as it turned out was not dying of some sort of plague, the way Mother had made it sound. He simply had a slight cough, but Tony had still forbidden him from going out with us that night. I didn't see him until the next morning, when I appeared at his room with presents in hand to leap onto his bed, as he so often did to me.<p>

"Leigh!" he cried, flinging skinny arms around my neck to hug me. "You're back! How was your trip? Did you like Spain? Did you bring me anything?"

I laughed and tickled him until he shied away, giggling manically.

"Of course I did," I told him, holding out his presents. I'd brought him a set of little metal cars, painted to look like Spanish police cars, and a fluffy white teddy bear, which Troy exclaimed over rapturously. In between playing with the toy cars while simultaneously hugging the teddy bear, Troy told me about how it had been since I was away. Tony had been away working, and Mother had been out a lot. Illness had kept him in the house for much of the time I'd been away, and while Troy had been allowed outside when the weather was nice, but he was always so tired that often he didn't venture outside for the day, but stayed inside with his toys where he could nap whenever he chose.

"Tony said that he had a surprise for us," Troy chattered, pushing one of his cars over the hills and valley created by his blanket. I leaned back and observed my little brother for a moment. His eyes were huge and dark and haunted-looking, and his hair was getting too long, falling around his face in heavy dark waves in sharp contrast with his pale, almost translucent skin. I vowed, looking at his little face that I would make sure that every day for the rest of the summer, Troy would be outside with me.

"Tony has a surprise for us?" I asked. "That sounds like fun."

We got the surprise later that afternoon. Tony had planned it as a family outing to a part of the grounds that I'd never explored. The solid wall of hedges I'd always turned away from turned out to be a maze, with the hedges cut into precise walls that ended far above my head. Within a few moments, it felt as though we were in a different world, with only the dense greenery for company. Even the birds seemed quieter. The air was heavy and sluggish with humidity and I stopped walking for a moment to scrape my hair up into a high ponytail on top my head. Troy clung to my hand tightly, and Tony walked ahead of us, with Mother beside him.

"We've had the maze for a long time," Tony said, twisting his head around to address Troy and me, "but I hadn't done anything with it beside maintain it. My father had built it as a simple novelty thing on the grounds. But now," his voice dropped lower with a hint of mystery in it, "if we make it to the center, then Troy and Leigh will get their surprise."

And moments later, there was our surprise. A wee cottage, straight from the storybooks surrounded by a darling white picket fence, which came only up to my knees. Troy dropped my hand and went running to the door to begin exploring, and Mother followed him, stepping lightly in her delicate high heeled sandals.

"It's a house," I said to Tony, flatly stating the obvious. "You built us a house?"

Tony bristled at my voice. "I thought it would be a charming thing for you and Troy to have this… as a sort of a play house. See," he said, as we walked in and began our tour, "I've stocked the kitchen with real dishes and we'll keep food in the refrigerator for you two to snack on, and there is a bedroom in case Troy is playing out here and needs to take a nap.

"Plus," he continued, "I thought you might appreciate a place within Farthy that is still within our grounds, but that you can make your own. With the maze out here, it is almost like you have your own private world."

Tony smiled widely at me. I wanted to glare at him, to refuse his gift… but I couldn't. He was right. I had decided earlier that it was up to me to take Troy to play outdoors during the summer, and looking around at the little cottage, I could easily imagine playing out here… having a place to stay that felt like it could belong only to us, and not be as restrictive and repressive as Farthy could be.

"I do like it," I admitted to Tony. He beamed at me, his smile wide and friendly.

"I had hoped you would," he said. "I can see Troy is already enjoying it." My little brother had discovered a table in the living room that had obviously been intended just for him; a child sized table outfitted with tiny puzzle pieces to create three-dimensional moving toys. Troy stood enraptured, already trying to put together a tiny train.

The summer blended into one long, hot summer day. Every morning, I would pack Troy up and teach him to swim at Farthy's vast outdoor pool, and then we would walk over to the cottage, holding hands and skipping through the maze like children. I would 'cook' lunch from the sandwich supplies that were kept in the cottage for us, and then carry my little brother into the bedroom for a nap. His thin arms would wrap around my neck, and he would beg me to sing him a song or tell him a story before he went to sleep. When he woke up, he would play with the 'toy table' Tony had set up for him, and I would read and sunbath. Sometime in late afternoon, we would walk back to Farthy, and after I had dinner with Troy and tucked him into bed, I would watch movies in our small cinema. I still watched Gidget, over and over, but Marilyn Monroe was a new favorite.

It was a peaceful, blissful existence that we lived in that summer. I was never certain whether Tony intended for Mother to join us in playing at the cottage; but if he did hope that, he was to be disappointed. Mother was often out during the day that summer, visiting various doctors and shopping with her friends, but even when she was home she refused to make the walk over through the maze and over to the cottage. I didn't mind that much. It was not an exciting, or eventful summer; but after the last year, I'd had enough of exciting and eventful. Peaceful and restful was much better.

I wrote Joshua long letters while Troy napped in the afternoons; pages and pages every week. I told him about Troy, and the books I was reading, the parties Mother made me go to some evenings (and how I would sometimes pretend to fall asleep very early to avoid them and stay home watching Marilyn Monroe instead!). At the end of each letter I'd say how much I missed him, and seal it with not one, but dozens of kisses.

For every letter I sent, I would receive a fat one back in return. He went on another trip with his father, to New York this time. He wrote how he could imagine having me at his side as he walked through the city, and sent photographs of the things he saw, so, as he wrote 'he could feel that I had seen them too.' And he, too, wrote that he missed me.

"Leigh dear, who are all those letters from?" Mother asked one evening, as she watched me avidly reading one of Joshua's letters after dinner. I was surprised. And then I realized that she didn't know. Mother had never asked about my trip with Daddy, or how my summer had gone; and so it was easy enough to have avoided telling her about Joshua.

"It's a letter from Joshua," I said. "We met this summer."

Mother's lip curled slightly, as she processed where I had to have met Joshua.

"Oh, that's nice that you are keeping in touch with a friend," was all she said, as she turned away from me to check her reflection in the mirror. I looked at her, completely self-absorbed and ignoring me. It was not a surprise, how she was. And yet I wished for her to show an interest in me, to guess somehow that Joshua meant more to me than as a friend.

Where had my Mother gone? My wonderful, caring Mother had become this beautiful stranger. Yes, she looked the same, wore her same clothes and jasmine perfume… but it was though what walked and talked and moved around me was simply an empty shell of the woman she had been.

As the summer wore on, one of Troy's favorite games to play was house. He grew to love snuggling against me, to shadow my footsteps wherever I went.

"Leigh," he whispered one afternoon, as I walked around the bedroom of the cottage, tugging the curtains closed and setting the fan to blow a soft breeze over the bed.

I sat on the edge of his bed, and stroked back his dark hair.

"Can I call you Mommy while we're here?" Troy asked. His voice, soft and lisping was heavy with sleep, and a rush of love flooded my heart. Troy deserved a real Mother. He deserved someone who cared about him, who counseled and disciplined and pampered him… but the woman who should do that, could not even seem to find it within herself to behave like that to _me_, the daughter related to her by blood.

"Of course," I said., smiling gently at him, and reaching down to hug him. "I can be your pretend Mommy, while we're here."

"And I'll be your pretend Daddy," a voice said from the door. I spun around to see Tony standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Good," Troy mumbled as he fell asleep. I stood up, feeling uncomfortable. Somehow in just those moments of sitting on the bed had caused my skirt to ride up my thighs, and I self-consciously pulled my dress down before turning around.

Things felt like they had changed with Tony. Before, I would look at his face and note how handsome he was… but now, I would look at him and my eyes would zero in on how piercing his blue eyes were, or how soft his cheeks looked when he was freshly shaven. In particular, I kept looking at his lips. Strange, before falling in love with Joshua, men's lips were just that. Lips. But the sharp curves of Tony's upper lip, rising softly above his softly jutting lower one gave me a quivery feeling in my stomach. No matter what else was happening, I found myself staring at his mouth. My thoughts wandered, and I wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his lips puckered up beneath mine as I had felt Joshua's.

I hid my feelings by a careful indifference toward Tony. For each nice thing he did for me, or each present he tried to give me, I would nod casually, or else make a snide comment about much more I would appreciate it if my father were the one to say or give me something. If Mother noticed, she didn't say anything, but she was so rarely home as it was.

I walked out to the front of the house and had pulled off my sundress to sunbathe before I realized Tony had followed me outside. Slowly, I lay down on my towel and Tony sat down next to me. I tried not to pull away from him.

"I went by Farthy before coming out here, but I heard that your Mother is still out. Has she called?" Tony's eyes were lit up so they appeared as bright as the summer sky above us.

"We haven't been in the house since this morning," I said shortly. Tony turned his gaze on me, and I felt my cheeks turn pink, and not from the sun. I was wearing the new swimsuit Mother had bought me; a sweet pink and white diagonally striped bikini. A single glimpse in the mirror when I put it on showed me that I was not just a woman in years, but I was developing a figure as well! My breasts were softly thrusting forward the little triangles of my bikini top, and my torso, previously as slim and straight as a child was beginning to narrow at the waist, giving me very slight curves. I fancied I could feel Tony's eyes on me, as hot as the sun above.

A light breeze blew over us, and I caught a whiff of Tony's cologne. Oh, but it smelled good! Light and spicy… I breathed it in, letting the scent tickle my nose and senses.

"Tell me about your father," Tony said rather suddenly, as he moved closer to me on the grass.

Caught off-guard, I blinked in surprise. "What about Daddy?" I asked, staring at Tony over the edge of my sunglasses.

"I know a bit about your father from things Jillian says," Tony responded, crossing his legs, clad in cleanly pressed tan slacks. He loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing an inch of his chest.

"Jill's perspective is, obviously, biased against Cleave. I don't know very much more about him than why their marriage ended. But you are his daughter, and it's clear that you love him very much, so I'd like to know why. What has he done to gain such a measure of love from you?"

I hesitated, thinking. "He doesn't do anything," I said. "He's just my Daddy," I said. "We can talk about everything. We both like our scrambled eggs dry, and raspberry jam on our toast, and we both eat chocolate cake by eating each layer separately." Tony tipped his head to the side, observing me, as I spoke.

"He works a lot, but its because he likes to help make things happen, and knows that he can do that. And he's always there for me, for everything I do. He was always at every riding competition, and swim meet and every birthday…" My voice trailed off as I thought about the last year. Daddy had been with me on my birthday this past year, it was true. But with his constant traveling, he had missed every school occasion I'd had this year, and my last swim meet. I had put those thoughts out of my mind, previously.

"I mean, he always used to be there for me."

"But things are different now?" Tony asked. He was plucking piece after piece of grass, not looking at me as we spoke.

"It's not his fault," I said hotly, jumping to Daddy's defense. "He's just unhappy about everything with Mother…" We sat in silence for a moment as Tony and I both thought about Mother's divorce and remarriage.

"I understand him," I said slowly. "How he feels. He travels all the time because he's so lonely. He likes having the crew around, and he's happiest when he's out on the ships. Because then he's not so alone."

"He misses Jillian," Tony murmured, half to himself.

"Of course he does," I said. "My parents were happy… before." No need to say what the before was. BT.T. Before Tony Tatterton.

Tony stood up, rather abruptly. "Thank you, Leigh, for telling me about your father. I wish you would understand that I am not trying to replace him for you. I just want to be someone additional in your life, to make things better, or easier on you."

"If you wanted things to be better," I said, my head spinning with the effects of sun and a sudden rush of anger at his words, "you would never have split up my parents!"

Tony bowed his head, and templed his fingers. "Yes," he said. "You're right. But I hope that when I have my own child, that I can be as good a father to that child, as your father obviously was to you."

He turned to walk away, and my mind suddenly realized what he'd said.

"Wait!" I cried out. Tony turned back to me.

"Your… child?"

Tony nodded, and came back to sit down beside me.

"Leigh, I thought you knew. Your Mother's doctor's appointments this summer… the reason we came back earlier from our honeymoon. We're hoping to have a baby."

And just like that, Troy's story was confirmed. My head reeled with the sudden knowledge, and I clasped at the only truth I had previously known.

"I thought Mother came back early to see me for Christmas," I cried. She had lied to me, to me? Her own daughter?

"She did want to see you. But she also thought she might be pregnant, so we flew back right away to be sure. She wasn't. In fact, the doctor thinks that she may have some trouble." Tony looked embarrassed; no doubt at having this conversation with me.

"It is harder to conceive when you are older… women in their thirties have more trouble than women who are younger. So your mother may have more trouble now, than she had when she became pregnant with you."

A red film of rage had settled over me. "Mother is not in her thirties," I snapped at Tony. "You're off by ten years. She's forty… or didn't you know that about her?"

Tony's face suddenly bleached pale. His shock surprised me. I had never realized… I thought Mother must have told him her age, and he loved her anyway. A slight part of me, the part that believed in princesses in towers and soul mates and true love forever like a child, had always thought it was slightly romantic… despite the age difference between them, despite whatever stood in their way, they were in love.

"Jill is… forty?" Tony gasped. And without another word, he walked away from me, and back toward the house. I sighed and went inside to rouse Troy. I had a feeling that we should go back to Farthy before it got much later.

I carried Troy back through the maze and into Farthy. As I walked in, I could already hear voices raised.

"You lied to me!" Tony yelled. He was standing with Mother at the top of the stairs, and as I watched, he raked his fingers through his thick blond hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of irritation.

"I didn't lie!" Mother cried out. "I knew you made an assumption of our age difference, and I just didn't tell you otherwise. But it doesn't matter, does it?" Her voice dropped lower, gentled in tone as she leaned toward her husband.

"I spoke to the doctors again today, and they assure me that even with my age, it will be no problem for me to have a baby. By this time next year, Tony darling, we could have a baby. I will," she declared, "conceive of the Tatterton heir. And you will be so happy, then, I know it.

"Will our age difference matter then?" Mother demanded, still with her Southern charm and gentility gracing her voice. She laid her hand caressingly on his cheek, stepped closer to him and looked up at him.

"Tony, darling… does it really matter now? Aren't I the same as I've always been?"

Tony's head dropped for a moment, and his shoulders slumped. Then he looked up at her, took in Mother with all her beauty. He smiled then, a slow, wry smile.

"Yes, Jill, you are just the same as you've always been." As I watched, her lips curved upwards into a smile that was so many things at once: sweet and adoring, yet coy and bold as well. She slid her arms around his neck to pull his face down to hers, and I could see them kissing. Kissing and kissing… then Tony's arms tightened around her as he swung her up into his embrace and they disappeared together into her rooms.

Later that night, as I sat at the table in my dressing room, Mother burst in. She was swathed in a black silk robe, and her hair was loose around her face, falling in sheets of the finest white gold.

"Leigh, I don't know what you thought you were doing?" she said, with no preamble.

I raised my chin and stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about. What was I doing?"

"I work very hard to maintain my youth, Leigh. You never ask a lady her age, after all… and Tony is enough a gentleman to have never asked. Besides which, he never needed to know… and yet you, my own daughter, told him my secret!"

"I didn't I know I was supposed to lie to him," I said. I was growing angrier by the second. I was being blamed for this? I was being blamed for telling the truth and revealing her lie?

Mother shook her head. "For such a smart girl, Leigh, you can show an incredible lack of intelligence about how things are between men and women."

She stood for a long moment looking at me. I glanced in the mirror to my left and was faintly surprised by the image I saw; both of us with arms crossed, long, pale blonde hair spilling down out backs, and nearly identical angry faces glaring at each other with the same cornflower blue eyes.

"You told my husband something that could break our trust," Mother said. Her voice was quiet, and her fingers tangled around each other until she stood with clasped hands, eyes narrowed and angry as she looked at me. "You betrayed me, Leigh."

"No more than you have done to me, Mother. I think we are even," I said. Anger and spite were in every fiber of my body, in my voice and heart. "I told a secret that I didn't know existed; but you… Mother, you kept the secret of your new baby very well."

Before me, Mother's face became pale and frozen with shock. Her eyes widened; mouth gaped before she shut it with a snap.

"Yes," I said, replying to her unspoken question. "I heard why you came back early for Christmas. I heard about your doctor's appointments. I know that you are planning to have the heir to the Tatterton empire. And each time, I had to hear it from everyone else. Everyone else knew something so important about you, and not your own daughter!" By this time I was yelling. My face was red and damp with sweat and tears, and my fingernails cut into my palm as I clenched my hands into fists.

"So, who betrayed whom?" I whispered, staring into Mother's eyes and challenging her to more of an argument. I was almost disappointed when she spun around and went back to bed, back to Tony's forgiving arms… and away from her daughter.


	10. Chapter 9: Unexpected Relationships

Thank you to those of you reading and reviewing! I hope you're all enjoying the story.

As an aside: I've had to change the rating because… well, Leigh's life, brief as it was, had a bit of an M rating. Hope everyone still enjoys. Please review!

**Disclaimer: Leigh and the rest of the Tattertons belong to VC Andrews estate.**

* * *

><p>Now that the secret was out, I heard about the baby constantly. In fact, I heard more than I often wished. Every month saw the potential of Mother being pregnant, and Tony would nervously pace around Farthy with bitten lips and a hopeful expression.<p>

"Well?" he'd demand, rushing to Mother to capture her hands in his. "Well?"

She would shake her head, silver-blonde hair pulled back to show her sculpted profile, her down-turned lips.

"Not yet, Tony darling. Soon. Soon."

And then Tony would go off for a few days to take care of business, leaving Mother to fret and wait until he returned with jewelry for her, and toys and clothes for Troy and me. In dark hallways and behind closed doors, there would be whispered conversations about timing and fertility during the next few weeks, but outside where everyone could see Tony would lightheartedly tease Troy about how the baby would steal his toys and eat his dessert (the way Troy himself had done to Tony) and Mother would flutter about Farthy dreamily, humming lullabies beneath her breath and occasionally laying a hand on her stomach, as though attempting to communicate with my unborn sibling. But then at the end of the month, the whole cycle would start again with Tony pacing nervously through the halls.

I spent the rest of that summer, and the autumn that followed ricocheting between peaceful calm and deep fury. The reason for my mood-swings was obvious, at least to me. While I had a vague desire to love and pamper a new brother or sister; more worrying was the sudden flashes of a deep burning anger towards Mother. I knew that the Bible admonished me to honor thy Mother and Father… well, I reflected, at least I managed the latter half of that commandment.

How to honor someone who no longer seems worthy of that respect? Our fight about the baby and my telling Tony about Mother's age was swept under the rug. For her sake, and the baby's sake, nothing upsetting was spoken about. But I wanted to discuss it! I wanted her to not treat me like a child anymore. After all, I was thirteen! Practically a grown woman. I wanted Mother to talk to me, to explain why she had lied to Tony and why she had lied to me… though sometimes I did acknowledge that Mother never truly lied. She concealed truths, gave partial replies to questions, or pretended to forget having conversations.

I was thirteen that Autumn, and growing up. My period started when I was at Winterhaven, and I was taken care of by our friendly housemother, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. And a good thing, too! When I tried talking to Mother about it, about my monthly cramps and backaches, she raised one hand to ward off my words and turned away.

"Please, Leigh dear!" she exclaimed. "Those are things ladies don't discuss," she told me airily, waving her hand as though to shoo my words away.

I stood, watching her at her vanity mirror, gently patting powder over her face and dabbing her jasmine perfume behind her ears, into her cleavage.

"Mother," I said, "I know ladies discuss it. Charity Benson talks all the time about how fat she feels at that time of the month. Vanessa Lockmann told us a horror story about how one time her pad came off her belt, and she bled all over her bed sheets. But no one talks about how much they hurt. I wanted to ask you because you are my mother, and all the other girls talk to their mothers about such things…" But I knew, even as the words left my mouth that they were useless. Mother had stopped listening, and was occupied with brushing a soft blue shadow on her eyelids.

I grabbed her arm. "Mother, are you listening?" The force of my hand upon her arm caused her to jump, and powder drifted from her brush onto the table.

"Leigh! Really!" Mother shook my hand off her arm, glanced in irritation at the powder dotting the table and then leaned back toward to mirror to check if her makeup was still unblemished.

"Some of those children are _not_ ladies," she murmered, absorbed with her reflection. "Imagine, talking about such things! I wonder at their mothers, permitting that!"

"At least their mothers know what is going on with them," I muttered. Mischievously, I ran my finger over the loose powder on the table, and streaked it across the pale wood. A pity it wasn't a darker shadow, so I could have stained the expensive tabletop forever.

It seemed that the weeks and months flew past, with only letters from Joshua to brighten my days, and Tony's monthly routine to make the passage of months. One day, I was sweating in that summer-like heat that exists at the beginning of September, and the next I was digging out sweaters and boots to ward off the chill. My world was a blur of girls in school, and conversations about Mother and the baby at home. Jenny had not returned to school, so I had a room to myself. Rumor went that the Longstones had moved to Boston proper, and Jenny was going to a normal school: one with boys! Charity both envied and deplored her for that!

"Of all the luck!" she exclaimed, whenever anyone mentioned her name. She clicked her teeth against her tongue. "That lucky thing, going to a school with boys!"

Boys had become a big topic of conversation that year. Somehow they had become what was whispered about over meals, and gossiped about by the mirrors in the bathroom before breakfast and before bed. We all read teen magazines that talked about how to tell if a boy liked you, how to do your hair to get his attention, or how to analyze his handwriting to see how he thinks.

Liv Carew told everyone about the boy she'd met in Monaco over the summer holidays. Charity, not to be outdone, told fantastic tales about a boy she'd kissed during her parent's Thanksgiving party.

"Guess who I saw," Charity boasted one evening. We were all sitting in her room after lights out, sipping stolen soda pop. Due to my exalted status as Tony's step-daughter now, I was always extended an invitation to join Charity's parties. She always had been a better friend than an enemy, I reflected that night as I sat there silently wishing that I could be in my own room and not around these girls I didn't care about. Deep within my soul, the pains of how they had all acted upon hearing of Mother's divorce still rankled. But even more than that, part of me feared everyone turning against me again, if I didn't join them in the evenings.

I sighed, and pushed a truffle into my mouth, looking over at where Charity sat propped up on pillows like some sort of ancient queen.

"Him," Charity continued. She sat back, crossing her arms over her small breasts barely concealed by her lacy pajama top and smiled smugly.

The girls gasped, and leaned forward to hear more of the story.

"So," Charity drawled, "we kissed again. Five times!"

An excited babble rose up at her words, and I smothered a disgusted sigh. I'd never told anyone about Joshua, but if I did… I would be an instant celebrity. To be kissed once was amazing, and (as evidenced by the chatter around by Charity's announcement) five kisses was nearly unheard of. But to me? I'd had more than five kisses! I sighed again, cutting into Charity's description.

"You're not interested, Leigh?" Charity's narrowed her eyes at me. I shrugged, popping another truffle in my mouth.

"Well, what would you know about kissing, anyway." Charity tossed her hair over her shoulder. "You've never done it."

"I have so," I cried. Then I clapped a hand over my mouth. I'd never intended to say anything.

Around us were shrieks of shock. Vanessa gasped, audibly.

"You sneaky girl," Charity said. She shook her head reprovingly, green eyes glinting dangerously. "You've never said anything. So…who is he?"

Her voice had a sly, biting edge to it, and I responded automatically to the challenge within it.

"His name is Joshua. Joshua John Bennington." Next to me, Marian sighed blissfully.

"What a name," she whispered.

I grinned, helplessly at her reaction. "He's really handsome… dark hair, dark eyes. And he's a good kisser."

"How good?" Charity challenged. "Show me how he kissed you." Suddenly the dynamic in the room changed.

"I'm not kissing you," I exclaimed, staring at her in horror. How could she even suggest such a thing?

"There's nothing to kissing," Charity said in a strange, silky sort of voice. She bent her head forward, placing a solid smack on Vanessa's lips. Vanessa started backwards in surprise, too shocked to even wipe her mouth.

"I'm still not kissing you, Charity," I retorted. "Anyway, our kisses weren't like that. They were softer…longer. I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing it. Around me, I could hear everyone murmuring with shock and envy, and I opened my eyes to see Charity sitting back among her pillows, regarding me strangely.

"Girls, I have an idea," Charity said in a falsely bright, cheerful voice. "Let's practice kissing."

"What?" Marian squeaked. "On who?"

"Each other, of course," Charity snapped. "Who else?" She paused for a moment, and then smiled with small white teeth gleaming.

"Let's pair up… Liv, you're with Marian. Ruth, I think you should be with Vanessa. Ella, try Frannie." It says how much Charity was feared because there were no murmured complaints, no questions, even. The girls split off in twos, and within moments the room was full of self-conscious giggles, and clearly audible smacks of lips.

"I guess it's you and me left." Charity smiled at me; a nasty shark-like smile. If she'd displayed a few extra rows of teeth I wouldn't have been surprised. I wore a frail nightgown of pale pink satin. It had short puffed sleeves, and the top had a small ruffle of white lace beneath my chin. Beneath my gown I felt my skin break out in a cold sweat, and my legs felt shaky as Charity came closer and closer. Her face broke down into individual elements; green eyes, freckles dusted over her nose, and sleek auburn hair tucked behind her ears. I squeezed my eyes shut as her lips touched mine, and I tried to force myself to relax.

In the end, she was right, though I wouldn't have admitted it. A kiss was just a kiss, after all.

But later that night, I hated myself for being such a coward. Why did I do that? Why did I let myself go along with things when I didn't want to? I tossed and turned in my lonely room, deploring the girls for not arguing with Charity and hating myself for not being any better.

The days grew colder, and December was a freezing, frigid affair, but Christmas planning was in full swing at Farthy. Right after Thanksgiving decorators swooped around the house, professionally placing delicate glass ornaments on the tree and hanging pine boughs and holly from the chandeliers and wall sconces. But despite the beauty of the inside of the house, Mother was upset.

"It's Christmas," I heard her say to Tony one afternoon as he was getting ready to go back to work. I paused at the top of the stairs, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"I thought maybe we could go away for a few weeks, to make up for cutting our trip short last year. After all, Tony darling, if things go as we plan, this is the last holiday we'll spend alone."

"Except for Leigh and Troy," Tony reminded her absently as he rifled through his briefcase.

"Yes," Mother said, nervously laughing. "Yes, except for them."

"Jill," Tony said, finally looking up to give her his full attention. "I remember the happiness on Leigh and Troy's faces last year when we came home to share the holidays with them. I decided then that if possible, I will try to never be away again at Christmas.

"Anyway, it's impossible to go away now. I've too much work that needs to get done this season. Maybe we can do something in January."

If I'd hoped to hear Mother agree that spending Christmas with her daughter was better than any trip, I was to be disappointed.

"I'm sure the children would understand us needing to get away," Mother said gently. She placed her hand on his arm, leaning into him to smile into his eyes. "And Tony darling, I do want time with you."

As if Mother's touch had unleashed something, Tony stopped suddenly and turned to pay attention only to her. Even from where I stood on the staircase watching them I could feel the intensity of his gaze upon her. His fingers caressed her cheek, curving over the delicate bones of her jaw, before sliding around to cradle her head in his palm.

"Do you think I don't want to be with you, Jillian? Do you think that I don't think about you every second, that even when I'm at work in meetings, I find myself thinking of your smile, of how your hair glows in candlelight, or how your eyes are more beautiful than any gems. Or of how soft your skin is…" I could see Tony staring intently down into Mother's eyes, gently rubbing his thumb over her cheek and down the slender, graceful column of her neck.

"Jillian, I want to be with you every single moment. But the Tattertons worked to build up our empire - the same empire that one day I want to bequeath to our child. And that means," he brushed his thumb over her cheek again as gently as one would stroke a flower petal, "that I have to go to work. I am sorry."

In a flash, Mother had pulled her face away from Tony, her sweet demeanor abruptly rupturing before my eyes.

"It's always work." Mother spat out her words in a spiteful torrent into Tony's face. "The only thing the Toy King cares about is those stupid toys. They don't bring peace or stop wars. They're just toys!

"I'm supposed to matter to you more than that! Your family is supposed to matter to you more. Your child… our child. How will I ever conceive, if you keep running around the world for work!"

Tony's voice dropped dangerously low. "Those stupid toys, as you call them, pay for your clothes and furs, Jillian. Kindly remember that."

I stood frozen on the stairs, listening to their argument. Why did that conversation seem so familiar? The words, so naggingly familiar.

Oh, that was right. My birthday. Over a year later, in a different place, in a different situation, different voices -save one- I leaned against the banister, with one hand pressed to my heart. Oh, the passage of time! It was true… the more things change, the more they stayed the same.

Christmas morning dawned to a thick blanket of snow on the ground and a bright blue sky above. Troy woke us up early with shrieks of glee as he ran downstairs, and I followed him moments later, hastily pulling on my warmest blue velvet robe. Together, my little brother and I opened presents, stopping only to exclaim over various items. Troy received a lot of toys, especially things intended for him to put together with small interlocking pieces. Daddy was back in Caribbean ports, but before he'd mailed me a brand new portable cassette player that I was extremely excited about, as I would be the only girl at Winterhaven to have one. The rest of my packages were filled with clothing and accessories: light, pretty dresses from Mary Quant that I loved, earrings and necklaces from London boutiques and silky soft purple leather boots from Milan. Tony and Mother came downstairs together, and I sat back to watch them. In a flash, I remembered last Christmas.

They've been married for a year already, I thought, watching Tony smiling at Troy's enthusiasm, and Mother sipping a cup of tea while simultaneously admiring the sapphire earrings Tony had given her. It had been a long year, I reflected. While so many things had been bad, my love for Troy and Joshua made up for so much.

"Is that another present for me?" Beside me, Troy clapped his hands excitedly as Tony came over to us, a gaily wrapped package in his hands.

"No, no," Troy laughed. "This one is for Leigh." He put the flat, narrow package into my hands and I raised an eyebrow.

"More presents?" I asked, as my fingers quickly ripped off the expensive paper. I found myself staring at a book of paper dolls. Paper dolls?

"Dolls?" I asked. Tony smiled.

"Yes, I thought you'd like them. Test markets have shown that girls want dolls that reflect themselves, and their families. We're testing these paper dolls… we've even had talk of portrait dolls, made to look like the girls themselves." he added, half to himself.

"I am thirteen," I said, giving Tony a stern look to bring him back to the present. "Thirteen is too old for paper dolls."

"There is no age limit on a Tatterton toy," Tony responded proudly. "It's mostly adult collectors, not children, who buy our toys anyway."

My fingers traced the shapes drawn on the stiff, shiny paper and my eyes unfocused so that the bright colors swirled in a kaleidoscopic whirl. Somehow, this gift perturbed me. All my other presents had been expected. This… I looked again at the pages under my fingers and felt a slight twinge of anger for no reason at all. Tony kept smiling at me, his face and eyes lit with happiness. Suddenly, I wanted to hurt him.

"Why would adults do that?" I asked, letting my voice drip with disdain. I straightened up, staring Tony in the eyes to say the thing I knew would hurt him the most. "Why do people pay so much money for stupid toys? They don't fix the problems in the world, or change the economy or politics, do they?"

Silence greeted me, strange uncomfortable silence. In trying to hurt Tony, I'd echoed Mother's words to him…would they notice? Ooh… yes, they would. My anger faded, to be replaced by a faint feeling of trepidation as Mother stopped beaming her beautific Virgin Mary smile to frankly glare at me, and Tony raised an eyebrow. His lip curled and for a moment, something fluttered in my belly and my cheeks flamed.

Mother put down her tea cup with a small, but audible crack. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded in a low, angry voice. Her fingers were clenched on her lap, and bright spots of color came into her cheeks. "Why would you say something like that and belittle the accomplishments of the entire Tatterton Emipire?" Though her words were directed at me, I could hear the thinly veiled taunt toward Tony. That she had to be right about her feelings toward his work if even her daughter agreed with her.

"Don't be such a child, Leigh," she continued, but this time the disdain in her voice was intended only for me. "Smile and say 'thank you' ."

I lowered my eyes as Troy climbed onto my lap and began with careful movements of his tiny fingers to flip the pages through the pages of dolls.

"Leigh, look! It's you!" Troy's excited voice rang out as he poked at the page with one finger to draw my attention to the dolls.

I bent over the page, my hair sliding down around my face to hide my expression. For it was me! Me, in the pink and white bikini I'd worn over the summer! I stared in surprise at myself reproduced on that paper, and began flipping pages to see my outfits… yes, they were also replicas of items I already owned in my wardrobe.

"Look!" Troy cried again, pulling my attention to other pages. There was a doll of Mother with a wide assortment of dresses, jewelry and furs; and Tony with a few suits. There was a small Troy doll outfitted with dungarees and polo shirts for play, and a tiny pale blue suit.

There was even a tiny bundle of white with only a small pink face exposed. A baby, to complete our family.

"I'd hoped you would like them" Tony said stiffly. The happiness was gone from his face, from his eyes. I managed a small, tight smile and murmured thank you to acknowledge the gift, then tucked them away beneath my new dresses.

Over the next few months I tried to show total indifference to the paper dolls, but a part of me loved them. I cut out 'my' doll and spent hours dressing her, over and over, in her little paper versions of the dresses I wore and loved. One evening I had the dolls with me, hidden in my history book as I sat in the study. Upstairs, a door slammed. I stiffened, and had a moment to shove the dolls out of view as Tony stormed into the room.

"Again," Tony muttered to himself. "Another month of waiting, planning…"

He looked up and saw me sitting there on the sofa. The skirt of my dress was spread out around me, and the red and orange flowers on it matched the leaping flames in the fireplace. Tony forced his face into a smile; a stiff and formal one.

"Hi, Leigh," he said, nearly managing to sound cheerful. His eyes caught the book in my lap. "Doing some studying?"

"Yes," I said. I went to stand up, but Tony sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, waving his hand at me.

"Don't let me disturb you." Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at my stepfather. His head was down, attention on his hands. Guilt washed over me at the sight of his profile. Despite the differences in coloring, he suddenly reminded me of Troy when he was sick and unhappy… I wanted to put my arms around him and cuddle him the way I did to my small brother to make him smile.

"I suppose you heard," Tony announced, rather casually. "Your mother found out. She's not pregnant… not this month."

"Oh," I said. I wasn't sure what Tony intended me to say. Each month, there was so much hope, so much anticipation. Even though part of me secretly wished for a larger family, another part of me didn't mind. That was the mean part, the vicious part that had suddenly sprouted from the carelessly scattered seeds from my hurt at my parents' divorce… my anger with my mother, and my bitterness toward Tony.

Before all that happened, I had never known I was capable of having so much meanness and anger inside me.

"There's always next month," I said slowly as I tried to put aside my unpleasant thoughts.

Tony nodded, his eyes on the fire. "I know," he responded. "There's always next month to try again."

His eyes were so full of sadness, my stomach twisted in sympathy. I reached across the cushions separating us to pat his hand, and he captured my fingers in his own. I looked at his fingernails, buffed to a gentle shine, and the light golden hair dusting the top of his knuckles. Desperate to lift Tony's mood, I reached into my book with my free hand and drew out the paper doll of the baby.

"At least you've got this," I said, handing it to him.

Tony's eyes narrowed, as he looked at the doll in my fingers.

"That's a doll," he said, stating the obvious. "A bit of paper." His voice was cold as he raised angry blue eyes to mine.

"I'm trying to help," I protested. "I thought it would make you feel better. Even if you don't have the baby you want yet, one day our family will be complete. Like my dolls!" I gave him a little smile, hoping he would see the joke and smile back at me.

"Don't be stupid." Tony's glare was unpleasant, and his voice was unexpectedly terrifying in its sharp, cold rage. "Why would giving me a scrap of colored paper make anything better? You are thirteen, Leigh, and sometimes you seem so mature that I expect better of you… but at the end of everything, you're still such a child."

A sudden, hot surge of temper washed through me, and I ripped my fingers from his as my cheeks flamed with anger.

"I'm not a child!" I snapped. "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I was only trying to help!

"Anyway, it's not my concern if your baby is paper. That's what you get for marrying a paper doll!" Tony's eyes flew to mine, sudden despair and anger in equal measure warring through them and his mouth falling open in surprise under the onslaught of my words.

My temper had sparked, and I couldn't help myself as I said: "Mother's rather like a paper doll herself, isn't she?" I opened my eyes wide and smiled sweetly at Tony. "Perfectly made up, beautiful clothes to dress her in… you married a paper doll," I finished viciously before I got up and stormed out of the room.

I stayed in my rooms all the rest of that night in a bad temper as I listened to records and stomped around my sitting room, imagining other things I could have said. For the first time, possibly, in all of my interactions with my stepfather, I had not been trying to be cruel or dismissive, but had tried to make him smile in the only way I knew… and he had called me a child.

Even though I went to sleep angry, I awoke in a better mood. In silence in my bedroom, I dressed in a soft cream colored dress with smocking of apricot and pale brown on the yoke and around the wrists, and I brushed my hair carefully, one hundred strokes on each side until it gleamed like a pale golden waterfall around my face. I slipped a small pair of gold earrings shaped like hearts into my ears. And as I stood there, watching myself in the mirror, I cringed a little more with shame inside.

Tony had called me a child, and when I'd lost my temper I'd behaved as one. And, I thought as I walked down Farthy's wide staircase toward to dining room, I would have to apologize.

The curtains were still drawn, and Tony sat alone in the dimness of the room, a full breakfast buffet on his plate. He nodded as I walked in, but said nothing as Michaels served me eggs and pancakes and then walked out, leaving us to eat in uncomfortable silence on opposite ends of the long table. I ate swiftly, without tasting my food and finally put my fork down and stood up to walk toward him. A few paces away, I stopped and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Tony," I said quietly, "for my behavior yesterday. I was wrong."

Tony stopped, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he put his hand down.

"You're sorry? Sorry for what you said?"

I shook my head, hair swinging around my face and impatiently I pushed it back behind my ears. "No," I said. "I'm not sorry for that. But I am sorry for how I acted. You called me a child and I got angry."

Tony's gaze, warm and summer blue swept over me, taking in my appearance from the toes of my brown boots, up to my face. He cleared his throat.

"I accept your apology, Leigh. And I was wrong too. I shouldn't have called you a child. In many ways, you are more mature than your Mother."

I nodded, turning toward the door when I heard Tony murmur one more thing.

"Jillian would never have apologized."

In the next few weekends, it seemed that Tony was constantly around the house, and everywhere that I was. Sitting with business reports as I did my homework before the fireplace. Checking on the horses in the stables, when I went to ride Pansy. Walking outside when Troy and I built snow forts and a veritable snow army of people and animals on the grounds. He even helped us to shovel the snow into mountains to roll down.

I grew accustomed to his attention, to the feel of his blue eyes upon me, half laughing at everything I did and said. And in turn, I grew comfortable with him, for the first time in all that we'd known each other. I found myself expecting to see him when I entered a room, his eyes lit from the inside with a smile. Or sharing a laugh when Troy did something funny.

As the weeks and months wore on, life developed a certain sameness. Weekends at Farthy, with Troy and Tony, and Mother still in her dream world thinking of the baby. And the weekdays at Winterhaven, with the monotony of school broken up by Charity's parties, at least two or three nights a week.

Slowly, our late-night parties became more than they used to be. We still giggled over Young Miss Magazine admonishing us to have nothing to do with boys, and yet in the next article telling us that a simple change of hairstyle would be more effective at making us attractive than simply applying cosmetics. We gobbled chocolates and burned toast, and sipped at sodas, But slowly, so slowly it was impossible to say when things changed, we would practice kissing more and more often.

"I don't know about this," Marian said one evening. She was nervously biting her lip, looking around at everyone with scared eyes. "Is it really right, to be kissing… girls?"

Charity gave a scornful sniff. "If you don't want to, then go back to your room."  
>Marian looked scandalized, more by the thought that her invitation to our after-hours parties could be revoked, than by the idea of kissing girls.<p>

"Anyway," Charity said, "there is nothing wrong with this. It's just kissing. Right, Leigh?" Her green eyes met mine, and I nodded.

"That's right," I agreed. "It's practice. Remember, girls," I said making fun of our chorus director, "practice makes perfect!" Around me, the girls dissolved into giggles.

Yes, I thought to myself, as I watched Charity smooth back her auburn hair and lean over to me. It's just practice. Practice for the next time I see Joshua.

But when would that be? Valentines day came and went, with only a card promising his love, despite the red cashmere scarf I sent him as a token of my love for him. March passed, cold and wet, without the letters or cards I had become accustomed to.

Finally, the first week of April, I got a letter. My heart jumped at the sight of his spiky handwriting on the front, and I couldn't wait to get up to my room to read it. Breathlessly, I tore open the envelope and pulled the single sheet of paper from inside.

_Dearest Leigh_, he wrote. I kept reading, squinting at the page as horror grew with each sentence.

_I'm sorry to tell you this in a letter, because I think you deserve better than this. But I don't know when I will ever see you again; so here goes._

_I will always love you, and treasure the memories of last year. But I think it's time to stop fooling ourselves. We are both young and have our lives ahead of us, and shouldn't be tied down._

_Leigh, I've met someone new, that I love. It's not as much as I loved you, but I think that's because I've refused to let you go in my heart. But it feels like it is time, now. I don't feel the same way I did over the summer. I've been obsessing over your memory, and have been ignoring the girl I can be with now, and in person._

_I hope you will not be angry when you read this, and that you will forgive me. I will always remember you as my first love._

_Joshua_

The pages fluttered from my fingers as I blinked back tears. It was over? He broke up with me? In my mind, I saw the wedding I thought we'd have, the house, the dark haired daughter playing as I did housework and waited for my beloved Joshua to come home from work… All gone now. Dreams. I sobbed outloud, and crouched to pick up his letter, brushing away tears with the back of my hand.

Part of me was aware that I was being silly. These things happen, don't they? Stories preach that first love doesn't usually last. But no story had every told me that heartbreak would hurt me so much.

I had just composed myself when Charity and Vanessa appeared, as if from nowhere.

"Ooh, Leigh!" Charity snatched Joshua's letter from my fingers. "What have you got there?"

"It's just a letter," I said. I reached to get it, but Charity had grown taller than me in the last few months and easily held it above my head.

"Who is it from? You talk to your father every week and your mother is hardly one to write…" Vanessa's smile, a faded copy of Charity's most vicious sneer taunted me.

"Or is it from your boyfriend…?"

What was it they saw in my face that gave me away? Charity opened the letter to read and I suddenly shoved her, hard, pulling the letter from her so roughly it tore in two pieces.

"He has a new girlfriend," I said breaking down, tears once again streaming down my cheeks. "He doesn't love me anymore. He's not my boyfriend."

"Oooh," Vanessa sing-songed. Through my tears, I dimly saw Charity push her.

"Shut up," she said, voice severe. "You don't know how it is to feel like that. Come on, Leigh." She put her arm around my shoulder and walked me into her room.

"Drink this," Charity commanded, slipping a glass half filled with amber liquid into my fingers. I obediently sipped, then gagged and nearly spat as fire roared to life on my tongue and throat.

"Brandy," Charity said shortly, seeing my questioning eyes. "Good for shock, my Dad always says."

I took another sip, concentrating on the warmth spreading through me, and not on the taste. As I neared the bottom of the glass, Charity splashed more in, and poured some for herself.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked quietly.

"I think so," I replied. My tears felt far away, the pain of a broken heart dulled by the brandy.

"I guess he's right. It's been a long time since we met, and I don't know when we would see each other again. And if he's with someone else now…" I took another fortifying sip and managed not to gag. "What else can I do about it, anyway?"

"I'd fight," Charity said flatly.

"That's not me," I whispered. We were alone in her room, and I began to cry again. Charity plucked the glass from my hand and put her arm around me.

"I don't fight," I said, leaning against her shoulder. How odd that I'd always felt so uncomfortable around Charity, and yet now she was the one I was talking to about something so personal. "Why fight when you can't change anything?"

"Sometimes," she said, "you fight because you know you're worth it. Even if you can't win." She hugged me and as I tipped my head up to reply, our lips met.

We'd kissed before, at least a dozen times. But it had never felt like this! Her lips were so soft and her tongue gentle as it probed against my lips. With a moan, I opened my mouth and let our tongues fence against each other, as my hands slid up her back.

Drowning, I was drowning in heat, in desire as strong as I'd had with Joshua. The pain my heart was forgotten as her hand slid up my stomach and the flat of her palm brushed over my breasts. A sharp pang made me arch my back as her finger circled my nipple, which was already swollen and hard with desire.

I moaned again, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, reveling in the taste of the brandy on her lips as her hand slid up my leg, pushing up my skirt. Her fingers were cold, and I felt them at the edge of my panties.

"Charity," I gasped, suddenly sober. "I don't think - I mean-"

"Don't be a baby, Leigh," Charity snapped. Her voice softened as she bent toward my lips again. "I do this to myself. Haven't you tried it? It feels good."

My head reeled. Drunk from brandy, drunk from pleasure and desperate to forget Joshua I kissed her again as her clever fingers moved against my secret, inner-most parts and I moaned with wave after wave of pleasure.

I awoke in the morning pale and hung over, but thankfully in my own bed. Charity caught my eye at breakfast and put an unnecessary finger to her lips. I nodded. Last night, it seemed, had not been just a dream.

A few nights later, Charity appeared in my room as I packed for spring break.

"Can you hand me that blue dress," I asked her. My back was to the door, but somehow I sensed who it was. Wordlessly, she handed me the dress, and I put it into my trunk.

"Sorry," she muttered. She was standing uncomfortably by my dresser, not looking at me when I turned around.

I shrugged. "Sorry for what?"

"You know," Charity said. She looked up then, and narrowed her eyes at me. "You do remember, right?"

A blush stole over my cheeks. "Yes," I admitted, "I remember."

"Well, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that; it was…wrong. Don't tell anyone, ok?"

I shrugged again. "I wouldn't. I barely remember it anyway."

But I was lying. After that first morning when I felt so sick, I did remember everything. How it felt, having her fingers stroking me. How I clutched at her arm, my fingernails pressing into her skin as I was caught in blinding wave after wave of a pleasure so great I felt helpless.

"Anyway," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "It was just practice."

Charity gave a bitter little laugh. "Yes, that's right," she said. "Practice."

* * *

><p><em>AN: For those of you wondering about this possible AU-ness of this chapter… well, combing the ideas that "the girls of Winterhaven were notoriously open about sex", as well as Heaven's remark when she goes to Winterhaven that "through the walls, she got a different type of sex education than she'd ever had in the Willies." In thinking of what VCA had in mind, I thought it possible that she meant something like this..._


	11. Chapter 10: Betrayal

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Hope you all enjoy…

Disclaimer: VC Andrews owns this all…

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><p>I spent a week of vacation with Daddy before returning to Farthy for Easter. Despite the excitement of driving back home with him, of seeing the familiar houses and trees of the neighborhood I'd grown up in, that first afternoon back was oddly strained. It had been so long since I'd seen Daddy, so very very long. He'd been away much of the winter, spending so time at our ports in the Caribbean that I'd only seen him a few weekends since January. Our conversation felt stilted and formal all that day as I wandered through the house alone, and Daddy caught up on work.<p>

I felt uncomfortable there in my old house, faintly constrained in my old room that felt -after the spaciousness of Farthy- to be smaller and shabbier than I'd ever realized. But all that ended at dinner. Like a dam had burst, Daddy and I talked all through dinner. We still talked every week, but phone conversations are no substitute for a real face-to-face talk, and while happily munching fettuccini alfredo we talked about everything. Daddy told me about work, and how the cabins were being redecorated on one of his biggest ships; and how the staff from last summer still asked about me. Because he had not realized the Longstones moved, I told him about how strange it was to have a single room, and admitted that Jenny and I weren't friends anymore.

"Leigh, I'm so sorry," Daddy said. "I didn't realize that you weren't talking to her, anymore." I wasn't surprised that he didn't know. There were some things it had been fine to share: funny stories about school, the work I was doing, and the books I read. But admitting that Jenny and I no longer talked… that was tantamount to telling him what a social pariah I'd become when my parents' marriage had ended, and I knew that information would hurt him.

"I know," I said simply, wiping away an errant tear. "And I'm alright, honestly. The other girls…" My voice faded out. "They can be very nice," I finished gamely. By that time, we had finished dinner and sat in the living room. Daddy put his arm around my shoulder, and gratefully I nestled against his side.

"It's nice, having you here," Daddy said. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the rough tweed of his jacket scratch my cheek. Breathing deeply, my nostrils filled up with Daddy's smell, which had always spelled home, love and comfort.

It is a funny thing about the sense of smell, how certain scents will always trigger memories. Jasmine always reminded me of Mother, just as cinnamon made me think of the Christmas I was four, making decorations of cinnamon dough with Jenny. Despite Mother having never approved of Daddy smoking a pipe, he always smelled of a heady combination of tobacco, and the thick spiciness of his cologne.

"I miss you a lot," I said, giving him a squeeze. Daddy squeezed back. Before us, the fire popped and crackled, shedding a warm glow over the room. In the last year, I had grown so accustomed to Farthy that sometimes it felt like I had lived nowhere else… but the more time I spent here in my childhood home with Daddy, the more this felt real again. I cast my eyes right and left, over the warm honey-hued wood floors and furniture, the creamy cushions covering the sofa and chairs.

Daddy cleared his throat. "How are things out there at Farthinggale Manor?" he asked in a low voice. I could sense what he wasn't saying, beneath his question.

"She's fine. The talk about the baby distracts everyone."

Too late I realized what I'd said. There were some things never to be mentioned, between Daddy and me. Mother. Tony. And the prospect of the new baby.

Daddy's eyes flickered up to the mantelpiece, where he still kept a picture of our family.

"I should have guessed," he whispered. I looked up to see his hazel eyes become dark and shadowed; his lips turn downward in sadness. Then he seemed to shake off his dark mood.

"I wish her luck," Daddy said, head bowed and voice solemn. So solemn, in fact, that despite the fun we had for the rest of the week, I felt something lacking. Like a limb that had been excised, Mother had ripped something from Daddy's heart and soul when she left… and at moments, I could still sense the pain he still carried inside.

A week later saw me back at Farthy. It was a wet spring that year, a messy, dripping affair of melting snow, and squishing mud underfoot. Mindful of my new red satin shoes from Daddy, I walked up the driveway, slipping in the front door before the butler could open it.

"Leigh!" Troy cried as I walked in the foyer, running from the living room to fling his arms around me. "Welcome home!"

"Yes," a deeper voice added, "welcome home." Tony stood at the foot of the stairs, smiling as I swooped Troy up in my arms.

"Hi, Tony," I greeted him. For more than a year, Farthy had been where I lived on the weekends but now that I didn't resent Tony, it had begun to feel like home. I walked over and put one arm around his neck to hug him and was rewarded with a friendly smile.

"You have to see, you have to see!" Troy yelled, rather excitedly into my ear. "There's something new here at the house!"

"Oh," I said, smiling at my little brother. "That sounds great! Do you want to show me?" He nodded vigorously, and Tony laughed, taking my elbow to lead me. Troy refused to move from my arms so together the three of us walked to the East wing and down the back stairwell. Before, there had been a series of storage cellars. But now, the rooms had been demolished to become a delight of serene blue water, and potted ferns in the corners of the room.

"A pool?" I asked, turning to Tony. "You built a pool?

"I'd always planned to. Now that Troy is a little older, I thought it would be nice; plus you like to swim too, right?" I nodded. "Swimming is good exercise," he went on, "and it's wonderful to be able to do it year-round, not just when the weather is nice enough to use the outdoor pool."

I nodded again. Being able to swim before bed, or in the morning before breakfast sounded like fun. And I stood there, swaying slightly on the balls of my feet, watching the serene water before me as smooth as a pane of glass.

"Where is Mother?" I suddenly asked. "Is she home? What is she doing?" It should not have surprised me that I hadn't seen her when I'd arrived; but somehow it still did.

"She's vomming," Troy volunteered helpfully from within my arms. I shifted him slightly on my hip, and with a soft chuckle, Tony reached out to pluck him from me.

"You're getting to be a big boy," he said affectionately. "Leigh can't always carry you around now!" Troy clung to his brother, skinny arms wrapped around his neck.

"Then you carry me!" he demanded, burrowing his head into Tony's collarbones. Tony smiled, but I watched his eyes become suspiciously bright as he patted Troy's back and hoisted him a bit higher on his hip.

"Always," he murmured, before dropping a kiss on his brother's small, pale forehead.

We walked in silence back toward the main part of Farthy. The crimson carpet muffled our footsteps, and the dim glow from the wall sconces reflecting the dark paneling of the walls did little to light our way.

"So Mother is sick?" I asked.

"Vomiting," Tony confirmed. He glanced over at me. His blue eyes were bright, appraising. My gaze fell upon my feet, clad so neatly in my shoes a few shades brighter than the carpet beneath them. Thoughts flew rampant in my mind, keeping pace with my footsteps. Mother, who boasted never being sick… Mother, who was now vomiting in the morning!

"Is she?" The words tumbled from my mouth. I stopped walking and clutched Tony's arm, my head spinning. "Is she?"

Tony ducked his head, blond hair grown surprisingly long in the week I'd been away, falling to slightly obscure his eyes. But head bent, hair in his face, was not enough to hide his smile. His teeth shone diamond bright in the sunlight as we emerged into the foyer.

"Maybe," he said. He could hardly speak for smiling.

Once, I would have been angry with the too-recent memory of Daddy's solemn face of last week. Once, I would have despised Tony the foolish, boyish grin spread across his face. But now, while I didn't share his excitement, I couldn't find it in myself to hate him. I managed a smile as I excused myself and ran upstairs to see Mother.

"Mother?" I burst into her dressing room, to find her dressed in a lilac negligee, sipping tea and gazing out the window.

"Oh Leigh, my sweet dear!" Mother held out her arms and I ran into them eagerly. How long had it been since Mother had hugged me like that? I lay my head on her shoulder, inhaling the sweetness of her jasmine perfume, and feeling her fingers gently stroking my hair.

"Why, Leigh dear, whatever is wrong?" Too late, I realized I had tears in my eyes. Why? I didn't know. I blinked and managed to smile at her.

"I'm just happy to see you," I said, finally. "Are you alright?"

"Oh yes," Mother said. "I've been a little indisposed lately, but now I'm feeling much better." Her fingers trailed over my cheek and she smiled cornflower blue eyes serene and happy.

The days before Easter passed quickly. Although I'd taught Troy to swim last summer, he remained afraid of water and I set myself to coaxing him into the new pool every morning before breakfast. Sometimes Tony came with us, laughing as he gently splashed his little brother, initiating some spectacular water fights. But at night, after Troy went to bed, I'd slip downstairs to swim, properly. Back and forth in the heated water I'd swim laps, feeling the pull of my arms through the water and feeling my legs propel me along. And then after tiring myself out so thoroughly that every muscle hurt, I'd flip onto my back and float; eyes shut tight and hair streaming around me like a halo. My ears below the surface of the water; hearing, rather than really feeling tiny waves lapping against me. I felt I could stay like that forever.

Suddenly, something grabbed my ankle! I stood up in the shallow end of the pool, inadvertently snorting in water. Coughing, tears in my eyes I spun around to see Tony standing next to me, a wide grin across his face.

"Sorry, Leigh" he said, shoulders shaking with merriment. "I just couldn't help it."

Still coughing, I narrowed my eyes at him. Tony only laughed harder.

"My dear girl," he said, voice full of mocking amusement, "how angry you look, when I was just being silly! How about this, Leigh, I'll give you a chance to get back at me." He grinned at me, devilment in every inch of his handsome face and shining in those bright blue eyes.

My coughing had finally subsided enough for me to breathe normally and I tucked wet strands of my hair behind my ears, and crossed my arms.

"You can count on it," I said. Tony's amusement was too much for me, and I felt my lips quirking into a smile, despite myself.

"As you're already in the pool, how about a race," Tony suggested.

I hesitated a moment, then paddled over to the edge where he was. "First one to the other end?"

"Deal. On three, now. One, two… three."

As I heard Tony say three, I launched myself forward, using a powerful kick-off from the wall to help me glide through the water before I began swimming with all my might. My outstretched fingers found the wall and I'd pulled myself half out of the water before Tony arrived and he grinned at me in honest admiration.

"I won," I crowed.

"I can't contest that," Tony said. He closed his eyes, while regaining his breath. Wet lashes cast spiky shadows upon his cheeks and blond hair in sodden waves were plastered down to his head.

"That was fun," he said, finally. "It's so nice to have a partner to do these things with. I'd thought that Jillian-"

Tony stopped talking abruptly. But he didn't have to continue. I knew what he'd say.

"Mother doesn't like exercise," I said.

"I've noticed," Tony mumbled quietly, rather to himself. Then he smiled, full of cheer and light again. "When you're here, Leigh, maybe we could swim together in the evenings? I used to be on the swim team when I was at university, and it's been a long time since I had someone to swim with."

"Me too," I agreed. "So it's a date then?"

Tony nodded, eyes sparkling. "Swimming before bed, whenever you're at Farthy. It's a date."

Easter had never been a much celebrated holiday in my family. God and religion were two things that Mother had only the vaguest of passing interest in, and therefore religious holidays had always ranked low in things we did. But Tony -for all that he seemed to share Mother's lack of religious fervor- evidently had good childhood memories that he wished to share with Troy and with me. Easter Sunday found us in church, clasping hymn books and inhaling the strong overpowering scent of lilies.

"Searching for Easter eggs was always my favorite part of this holiday," Tony said as we stood outside the church, blinking in the bright spring sunshine after the darkness from the inside of the sanctuary. I took a deep breath of the cool air, expelling the last of the pollen-laced lilies aroma from my lungs.

Troy ran ahead of us, clutching a large wicker basket in one hand as he diligently began searching for eggs beneath nearby bushes.

"Come help, Leigh," he pleaded. "Come help!"  
>"I'm coming," I answered, laughing. Heedless of my new dress, a sweet confection of lavender lace with darker purple ribbon at the hem, I ran around the church grounds with my small brother. When all the eggs had been found, and prizes awarded for the most eggs gathered, Troy and I returned to where Mother and Tony stood conversing with other members of the congregation.<p>

"Tony!" Troy's cheeks were flushed and his hair rumpled, but his grin stretched from ear to ear. "We won the second prize for the most eggs!"  
>"That's wonderful," Tony said. "Jill, isn't that wonderful?"<p>

Mother pressed her lips together, and gave a small, curt nod. "Yes, yes, Tony darling. That's very nice. But, Leigh! Whatever happened to you?"

Under the directness of her gaze, I realized what I must look like now. Far from the elegant way I'd been dressed for service, I was now even more bedraggled than Troy. My dress was wrinkled from running around and there were grass stains on the knees of my white stockings. My hair, carefully pulled back with jeweled clips earlier in the day was now tangled and hanging into my face, and my cheeks were pink with excitement and exertion.

"I was helping Troy," I explained, self-consciously tugging at my skirt and attempting to tuck the tangles of my hair behind my ears.

"Oh, Jill," Tony said mildly, "leave her alone. She and Troy had a good time."

Mother sniffed. "She looked like a proper young lady this morning, and now she looks like a hooligan."

"I think Leigh looks pretty," Troy piped up, still occupied with his loving gaze at the paper ribbon we'd won.

"I think so too," Tony said. I looked up to see him smiling at me, without a trace of mockery anywhere on his face. "Leigh is beautiful, no matter what she's wearing."

Troy pulled me away at that moment but I caught a glimpse of Mother's face as I turned to pay attention to my little brother. Her lips were pulled back into a smile, but something in her eyes told me that she was angry Tony disagreed with her… that he might find my romping with Troy amusing, but she found nothing funny about the situation.

Later that night, towel beneath my arm, I slipped down the stairs at Farthy toward the pool. It was much later than I was used to having my nighttime swim, but Troy had been so excited that it had been very difficult to get him to sleep. Mother had disappeared with Tony into her rooms shortly after dinner, and now, Farthy was filled with a peaceful calm and quiet.

But when I got to the pool, I realized that all was not as quiet as I'd thought. Tony was not upstairs, as I'd thought, but was in the water, angrily swimming back and forth in one of the lanes. A smile crept over my face as I tiptoed to the edge of the pool, watching him. I hadn't forgotten the dunking he'd given me, nor his rash offer that I could pick a time to reciprocate. Inch by inch, I made my way over to the edge of the pool as Tony stopped rather abruptly, and floated, face down in the water. I slid into the water, moving slowly so I wouldn't alert him to my presence, tiptoed closer… and grabbed his foot.

Just as I'd done, Tony sputtered, inhaling a big mouthful of water. He stood up, coughing angrily and rubbing his eyes.

"What do you think you are doing?"

At the indignant look on his face, I began to laugh.

"I couldn't help it," I said, trying in vain to stifle my laughter. "Dear boy, you just made a wonderful target, lying there! And," I added, "I got you back for dunking me!"

"Don't be such a child," Tony snapped. "I was swimming and you disturbed me."

My laughter stopped as abruptly as though a button had been pushed. Taken aback, I stared at him. I thought we'd been getting along so well!

"I'm not a child," I answered automatically. "I was just doing what you did to me before. Being… silly?" My voice faded as I stared at Tony. His face, set in lines of anger and frustration was terrifying. Unconsciously, I took a step backwards, wanting nothing more than to be away, far away in my rooms and nowhere near this frightening version of Tony Tatterton that I'd never seen.

But in an instant, the extremes of anger and unhappiness washed from his face. He smiled; a small, mocking smile.

"You want to be silly?" he asked. Suddenly, without my even seeing him move, a wave of water hit me in the face.

"You splashed me!" I cried. In a flash, Tony was back to the person I knew. He smiled, suddenly as free as before. I splashed him back and then dashed for the ladder to climb out of the pool. He grabbed my ankle and I fell backwards with a shriek and a splash.

"That was not fair!" I said, laughing up into Tony's face. He was laughing too, his blue eyes alight. And then he reached toward me.

It was one of the moments when time seems to freeze. I couldn't understand what he was doing, even when I looked down and realized my bikini top had flown up when I fell back into the pool, and Tony was reaching over to pull it down. Strange how something so innocent suddenly seemed so wrong… I stared downward in growing horror at the sight of Tony's thumb and forefinger holding the fabric of my top to pull it down. I could feel his fingers against my cleavage, his forefinger tracing down between my breasts as he pulled on the wet blue fabric, the sides of his fingers brushing against me.

I don't know how long the moment lasted. It felt like forever, the burn of Tony's fingers against my breasts even through the cool water. Caught in that second that time forgot, I looked at him. His lips, smooth and sensual were parted slightly; the planes of his face turning slightly saturnine in the shadows of the pool room scared me. But more worrying, more terrifying were his eyes. His gaze was fixed upon my top, and the breasts that he was even now covering. But deep in his eyes I saw something like the flame of a candle: bright, scalding and very, very frightening.

I fled back to my rooms, water dripping from my suit and hair to pool in dark, wet patches on the pale rugs. Wrapped in a towel and staring at my mirror I trembled.

For something which had seemed so innocent at first, it had become something of horror. Caught in shock, I shook with not only the chill of my wet swimsuit, but with fear. Somehow I felt so uncomfortable about what had happened. It was not what exactly had happened, but the feelings I got from it that were filling me with such trepidation.

In another, earlier time, I would have called Jenny to talk. If I were hurt, and needed soothing, I would have crept to Daddy, and to Mother.

But now, who was I to turn to? Jenny and I were no longer friends. Mother was completely absorbed with herself, with her new husband, and her pregnancy. Daddy was far away in Costa Rica… and anyway, what could I say?

In time, I slept fitfully, still in my swimsuit and wrapped in a towel on my bed. Even in my dreams, my mind raced and I woke up pale and disturbed. At the stroke of noon, I let myself into Mother's rooms. Where else could I turn? Even preoccupied with herself as she was, she was still my Mother. She had to listen to me, to sooth away the nebulous worry that the previous night had caused… right?

I was relieved to see that she was already awake, but I still called out to her softly as I walked over to her.

"Oh, Leigh dear, it's you. What is it? I'm busy." But she wasn't. She was walking disconsolately around her dressing room, picking up a brush here, a silver backed hand mirror there, and then suddenly putting them in other places. She wore no eye shadow or mascara, making her appear at once younger and more vulnerable.

"Mother, I had to talk to you. Please." Aware that I sounded as though I were begging for her attention, I found myself adding: "it's about Tony."

A spark of interest. "What about Tony?"

I took a deep breath. It needed to be said, even if I felt so uncomfortable saying it.

"He touched me," I whispered, in a low, shamed voice.

"He - touched you?"

Caught in my own misery, I still had a flash of irritation that Mother wasn't even looking at me. Her fingers trailed over pairs of shoes on a rack, lightly caressing satin slippers and kid pumps.

"We were being silly, and when he pulled me into the pool my top went up. Tony reached over to fix it and he- touched me." My cheeks flamed. "There!" I gestured vaguely toward my chest.

"Your bikini top went up, and Tony fixed it for you?" Mother asked.

I nodded. Once out of my mouth, it sounded so banal, but I wanted her to see… no, I was trusting her to understand how I felt. Frightened, by what had happened. Betrayed, by someone I trusted that I thought had become a friend.

"Really, Leigh," Mother said, now absently shifting powder compacts on her dressing table. "I don't see anything wrong. I thought you and Tony were getting along. He does encourage you to be silly," she added, with a slight sniff that let me know instantly that she did not approve of that.

"We were getting along. It's just…" I fought for words. It didn't seem right. More banal words that stated only the facts, but didn't fully explain how I felt.

"Leigh, dear, don't be such a child. Tony was helping you fix your clothes. Now run along like a sweet dear and let me get ready. I have a bridge party to go to." Mother's dismissive demeanor was back, her smile as sweet and as blank as usual as I ran from the room.

Even though Mother had not been there for me for so long, I'd still hoped that she would understand. That by telling her what had happened, she would instinctively know how upset I felt. But that was foolish. Mother never really listened; certainly, not any more.

It seemed that with each turn of my life, I lost something that I'd loved, and never appreciated fully until it was missing. Daddy was the first to go, followed by my home, my friends… and despite it all, I'd harbored the childish hope that if something was really wrong, that Mother would always be there for me. Now, with her refusal to listen and to understand, it was time to accept that I was truly alone.

Feeling bereft of love and support apparently affected me badly. My anger, which I'd thought had faded when Tony and I became friends came back. I could barely stand to be in the same room with Mother, not now that I felt so betrayed by her. Being around Tony was worse, as he always seemed to be where I was. Previously, that had not felt so oppressive, but now I grew angry and sullen whenever he came around me. Ruthlessly, I squashed down the urge to answer Tony's friendly smiles and greetings, and glared instead. His good humor gradually became replaced with confusion and frank irritation when I didn't answer him.

But that amount of anger was taking its toll on me. I felt nervous and tired all the time whenever I ventured out of my rooms. Perhaps Mother had been right, I mused one afternoon as I was sitting with Troy before he went for a nap. Just perhaps, Tony's action had been innocent. Was I overreacting to something that he hadn't intended? I closed my eyes, remembering that night. I could feel the water against my skin, the exhilaration when Tony's anger seemed to fade and he turned back into the person that I liked. But then… oh, but then I remembered that look in Tony's eyes as he was pulling my top down. That hungry, intense look in his blue, blue eyes. I shivered, involuntarily.

"Leigh?" Troy was already tucked into his bed, and was watching me with troubled eyes. He put one frail arm to clasp me around the neck.

"I'm sorry, Troy," I said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I was thinking of something else."

Troy bit his lip, and his arm tightened around my neck.

"Are you mad, Leigh?" he whispered.

"No," I said instantly, melting with the entreaty in his eyes. "I'm not mad, Troy. Why would you think that?"

"Because you seem mad all the time now," Troy insisted as he lay back against his pillows. Dark eyes with long lashes fluttered owlishly as he sleepily whispered, "I liked it better when you and Tony got along. Now you always seem mad when he's around." Within one heartbeat to the next, he was asleep. I sat on the edge of his bed watching his narrow chest moving with his faint breaths, slightly startled to realize that my animosity had reached such proportions that even Troy had noticed.

"He's right, you know," a voice behind me said.

I spun around to find Tony watching me.

"He's right," Tony said again, simply. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit which served to bring his face even more in the shadows. "You seem mad at me."

"Shouldn't I be?" I hissed. "After what you did?"

"What did I do?" Tony asked. His voice sounded genuinely confused, but all I could wish in that moment was that he would move so that I could see him better.

"In the pool," I said, angrily. "What you did in the pool. You - touched me."

"Oh Leigh," Tony let out a quiet burst of laughter. "You're being so childish. I fixed your top. Nothing more."

"I am not a child," I bit out. "I wish everyone would stop calling me that!"

"If you act like one," Tony said, his voice becoming low and intense, "then that is how we will treat you."

"Do I look like a child?" I demanded. I stood up, spreading my arms out and fixing Tony with a glare. His eyes skimmed over me, over my flushed cheeks and my long, pale blond hair hanging over my shoulders. His eyes narrowed as they traveled down my body, then back up to my face, and he closed his eyes briefly.

"No," he said quietly, in a voice unlike his own. "No, Leigh, you don't look like a child."

"Then don't call me one," I snapped, louder than I intended. On the bed, Troy stirred uncomfortably in his sleep, and I lowered my voice before I continued.

"Am I good with Troy?"

"Yes," Tony agreed immediately. "You're very good with him."

"So we agree. I don't look like a child and I don't act like one. If I was that childish, I wouldn't be so good with Troy. Right?"

Tony sighed. "Being a child, or acting like a child is based on more things than just those two criteria, Leigh. But, yes, you are right. If it is what you want to hear, then I do agree on those two points. You are very good with Troy. You mother him more than…" I felt, rather than saw Tony bite back his words.

"I know," I said, answering what he'd left unsaid. "Don't you wish Mother was more like me?"

Suddenly, Tony stepped into the light of the room and I could feel his eyes boring into me. My cheeks flushed hot and my heart began to beat faster. I lowered my eyes.

"That's the second time you've said that," he murmured, coming closer.

Was it? I couldn't remember, if that was true. Strange, that he did.

Something prompted me to look up, to see his blue eyes smoldering beneath his thick fall of blond hair that gleamed like gold in the afternoon sunlight streaming into the room. His lips quirked into a smile.

"Sometimes, dear girl," he said, rather conversationally, "you look so like Jill, with those clear blue eyes and long blond hair. But you're really so different. When we met, I thought Jill would be like you are," Tony said. The words fell slowly from his lips. "Warm. Caring. And instead-"

Unbidden, the words jumped to my lips. "You married a paper doll," I said, shrugging. I stood up to leave the room, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I walked past him. Behind me I could hear Tony's footsteps, following me. He grabbed my arm, and I spun around to face him. His face was twisted in anger.

"I hate it," he snapped, "when you say that! I thought we were getting along, Leigh, and you'd stopped making such child-" He stopped himself abruptly, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I thought you'd stopped saying such things. Anyway, it's not true. Jillian is beautiful; wonderful and captivatingly so. But that's not the only reason I married her. I thought she'd be a good mother. I thought we'd all be so happy…"

Anger flared inside me, anger over so many things that I couldn't control how my thoughts raced through my head. Anger over what had happened in the pool. Anger at Mother for not listening, believing or paying attention to me since she had met Tony Tatterton. Anger about the loss of my happy, comfortable life and my best friend. Anger about Daddy's brittle sadness, that led him to be so far away from me.

And in the end, I flung the first, and easiest complaint at Tony that I could.

"Except my father, you mean," I snapped. "You never thought if my father would be happy."

Tony raked a hand through his hair, mussing it into soft golden waves.

"No," he then admitted with a sigh. "I didn't think of your father. I thought of Troy and how he needed someone more than me, how he needed a mother to care about him an older sister to make us seem like a proper family. I thought of myself, how lonely I was all alone with just my little brother to fill this house. I thought of Jill, lonely and wanting company while your father was absorbed in work. I even thought of you, and how much you would like living like a princess with all the things that Farthy and the Tatterton empire could supply. But no, Leigh. I suppose I was selfish, wasn't I? I didn't think of Cleave."

Tony sighed, scrubbing his face with his palms before continuing.

"I thought you'd stopped blaming me for that a long time ago, Leigh."

I shrugged, without saying anything. It was true. Somehow, when Tony and I had begun getting along, I had stopped blaming him.

"What would make you finally hate me less?" Tony crossed his arms, watching my face. "What will make you not glare at me with those big blue eyes of yours?"

Words failed me. If there was something in the world that Tony could buy, or connections he could rely on… why, Tony could do anything. But what I really wanted was something that could not be bought. I wanted my life back, the happy life I'd had before Tony came.

"If Mother came back," I finally said. I thought longingly of my twelfth birthday, of Mother's love and attention during my party and of Daddy's face gazing back at me when I blew out the candles on my cake. "If you let my mother go back to my father, that would make him happy,"

I stared up at Tony, keeping my eyes fixed on his face. "And then you'd be happy that you wouldn't have someone who isn't a mother to Troy, and Daddy would be happy, and I'd be happy with my parents back together."

Silence met my words, silence that went on and on and on.

"And Troy?" Tony finally said. "And me? Who would we have, then?"

Deep down, I knew that this whole conversation was foolish. Tony could not make Mother return to Daddy. My mind racing, I spoke without thinking. "You could have me."

Tony stared at me incredulously. "You?"

"I can come back," I said. "I'd miss Troy too much to leave forever."

"You?" Tony said again, staring at me. "You'd stay here?"

"I could be a good mother to Troy. I already am; you said so yourself. I'm not in love with myself as Mother is," I added bitterly. "I know how to care about other people."

Tony's eyes were shadowed with a thousand unsaid things. "Come with me," he said suddenly, catching my hand and pulling me along with him as he walked to his office. I hurried next to him, our feet barely making a sound through the thick crimson carpeting. We walked into his office, and he abruptly let go of my hand as he closed the door.

It was still light enough outside that he didn't need to turn on a lamp, even with the shades drawn. Sunlight flickered at the edges of the room, faintly brightening the shadows.

"So you'd stay here," Tony said. His voice sounded half strangled. "You'd stay here and be Troy's mother."

"Yes," I said. "I already am like his mother."

"Yes, you are," Tony agreed. He tilted his head to the side, looking at me. I was dressed in a white dress that had a thick border of black around the hem and neckline, with a single thick black stripe going vertically down the center to divide it into two parts. I wore my favorite high black boots underneath with no stockings, and my hair was falling loose onto my shoulders.

"But what about me?" Tony asked. His voice was soft, and slightly menacing. "It's not just Troy to consider. I need a wife, Leigh. Could you be that?" He caught a look at my face and took a single step closer. "Do you know what a wife does?"

"Of course I know." I raised my chin, and met his eyes. "She takes care of the house and the children and her husband."

"That's true," he said, slowly. A smile quirked one side of his mouth. "But that's not all that a wife does, Leigh. I'm not sure you can do the rest…"

Pride slammed into my body, stiffening my spine. "I can do it," I said impetuously. "Why would you think I couldn't?"

"Well, you're such a child." Tony's voice was slightly malicious.

"I am not a child!"

"So you say," Tony drawled. He had a lazy smile over his face as he watched me, judging my every reaction.  
>"Maybe I should give you a bit of a test. You can show me what a good wife you'd make. Give me a kiss."<p>

A silence followed his words. Give him a kiss? Could he be serious? It was _Tony _before me. Not Joshua whom I had loved, or even Charity, but Tony Tatterton… my mother's second husband. I gazed up at him, my eyes drinking in his sculpted features, his piercing blue eyes and thick blond hair, smooth skin and soft lips. I remembered last summer when I'd arrived back at Farthy, how I'd suddenly begun to notice just how handsome Tony was, how sensual I thought his lips were. A hint of desire rushed through me at that thought, followed by a near tangible wave of guilt.

I knew right from wrong, and what he'd said was definitely the latter. But out of nowhere, I found myself remembering a hot summer day when I was eight. Mother was napping to combat the weather, Daddy was at work, and I sat inside, hot and uncomfortable, playing with my toys. When I heard the tinkling music outside, followed by the screams of the neighborhood children, I ran to ransack my piggybank for change, suddenly obsessed with the thought of ice cream. But it was empty. Deflated, I put my bank back onto the dresser, when I remembered. Daddy kept nickels in a jar on his desk, downstairs in his office.

I crept through the house, obsessed with the thought of just getting enough for an ice cream. I could almost taste the cold, creamy vanilla melting on my tongue, the crisp cone crunching between my teeth. I expected the door to squeal tellingly when I slipped into his office, quickly grabbed a fistful of change and then ran back out. But the house was silent, and I heard nothing except the racing of my own heart. And in the end, between guilt over my theft, and the anticipation for ice cream, anticipation won out. In the shadows of our back porch, I devoured my treat. And in the end, it was alright. No one ever knew. Mother didn't wake up, and Daddy never noticed that loss of that thirty cents.

Just like that summer day so long ago, guilt over what would certainly be wrong and anticipation of what my body craved warred within me. The right thing to do would be to laugh at Tony's words, to turn and walk out of the room. But I _wanted_ it right then, wanted that feeling of lips pressed beneath mine, the rush of desire and excitement that came with it. The flicker of passion grew within me and I blushed, the blood rushing painfully to my cheeks.

Easy. So easy to reach up, to kiss him. So wrong, but so tempting! It felt a year since we stood there, and I wrestled with my thoughts, the rational guilt and the irrational desire.

Tony gave a short bark of laughter then, half turning away from me. "I knew it," he said quietly, venomously. "Big words and tall tales, like your Mother. You are still such a child, Leigh."

Oh! His taunt goaded me into action. In a second the guilt slid away and I found myself taking one step, and then another until I was right in front of Tony. His eyes were unreadable as I reached up and grabbed his face between my hands and pulled his head down to me. In the second before my lips touched his, I remembered to make my lips soft, to lightly caress his. I let my hand slide over his cheeks, and my arms to twine around his neck as I deepened the pressure of our kiss. My tongue gently touched the opening of his mouth before darting back; and I did that a few times until his mouth opened beneath mine and I could push my tongue gently in to tangle with his.

This is just a kiss, I reminded myself nervously. It's just a kiss. Just like kissing Charity. But that last thought was a mistake, as I remembered that night with her. Desire overwhelmed me in a wave, and I stood on tiptoe, pressing my body against his as we kissed and kissed and kissed; I didn't want to ever stop.

Tony was the one to pull away from me, breathing hard.

"Not so innocent, are you?" he said.

I thought of Charity, of that night in her room.

"No," I answered truthfully, breathing hard myself. "I told you, I'm not a child."

"Silly me," Tony drawled, "for doubting you."

I could hear the faint ticks from the clock on the desk, as I stood there within his arms. My heart still raced, and I almost missed his next words.

"Do you know what is supposed to happen after we kiss?" Tony murmured in a soft voice.

The words fell from my lips, without conscious thought behind them.

"Well," I said slowly, thinking back to that night. "You touch me-"

"Tell me where," Tony whispered. "No, better yet. Show me." He still had a look on his face, his eyes unfathomable in the shadows. A trace of guilt threaded through my mind, but I ruthlessly shoved it down. My heartbeat quickened, thinking of the bliss that could be waiting for me, if I just didn't think…if I just acted upon what my body craved. I took one of his hands and hesitantly brought it up to my breasts.

"Here," I murmured. "And then you would touch me here." I pulled his hand down my stomach, and paused at the sudden electric jolt of desire that made my cheeks glow. Tony pulled up the hem of my dress, and I shivered a little at the feel of his fingers, pulling at the elastic of my panties.

"And do we kiss again?" he whispered into my ear.

"Yes," I answered, already reaching for him.

His lips captured mine in a deep kiss as his hand slid into my underwear and began stroking me. It was different than when Charity did it. His hands were bigger, and he was less tentative with his movements… He picked me up with one arm and sat me on his desk as he kept caressing me, kept kissing me. My breathing turned ragged and I tightened my arms around his neck to pull his closer to me. His lips left mine and traveled over to my ear.

"And then what happens, Leigh?"

I was beyond answering. I was lost, lost in the world of passion his fingers and his kisses had put me into.

He pulled away and I half gasped in surprise.

"Do you know what to do then?" His face was flushed and his breathing uneven. In his eyes, I saw the answering flickers of my own passion, and something else. Something I couldn't name. I blinked at him as Tony grabbed my hand and put it down his already open pants. Beneath my fingers I could feel something thick and hard pushing its way into my hand. I looked down to see his member, ruddy dark against the white of my fingers, and the thatch of dark blond curls at the base.

Suddenly, I was afraid. The guilt, the sense of wrong that I'd ignored reared up. Everything until that moment had seemed almost dreamlike. But at that moment, it felt like I'd woken up… and into a nightmare.

"Yes. I mean, no. Tony, stop! I don't want-" I tried to pull my hand away, but Tony placed his over it to move it slowly.

"This is what happens," he said in a low voice. His eyes were lit from within with a brilliant, scalding flame, just like they'd been that night in the pool. The desire that had been coursing through my body was rapidly being replaced by fear and I tried to pull away from him. I was frightened… so very frightened!

"And then what happens after?" Tony persisted. He pulled my hand off him suddenly, and lightning fast had my skirt yanked up and parted my legs with one hand.

"No," I whispered. This was no game anymore. I fought against Tony's hands holding me tightly, but to no avail. "Stop it," I cried, trying to push him away. "I'll scream!"

Tony chuckled. "Scream away," he said pleasantly. "There's no one here, on this side of the house at this hour of the day."

And scream I did. I yelled until my voice went hoarse and my throat ached. I tried to push Tony away with my hands, with my flailing legs, to turn my head and evade his kisses. But I couldn't. His mouth captured mine as I gasped for breath. He caught my wrists in one hand and twisted my arms behind my back so I couldn't break free. And then he entered me.

Pain! Pain, shooting from inside me at the horrible thing he was doing. In a panic I tried to break free of his hold on my wrists, to draw a breath to scream again. But I couldn't, still couldn't get away.

A few minutes or years later, he gripped my wrists tighter and yanked me close as he stood still, and then finally released me.

Screaming would do no good, anymore. Nothing would. I managed to climb off the desk and caught of glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was in a wild tangle around me, and my dress was wrinkled from where it had been forced up above my waist. My lips looked red and bruised and my face was tearstained.

I looked up to see Tony looking at me. Concern was etched in his eyes, in his face. He extended a hand to me and I flinched away from it.

"Leigh," he said softly. "I didn't mean…"

But by that time, I was already running out of the room, tears streaming down my cheeks.


	12. Chapter 11: Confrontation

_Oh… thank you, you darlings who read and review. Glad people are enjoying the story._

* * *

><p>Openly sobbing now, I ran back to my room. Gasping for air as the door slammed behind me, I stumbled and almost tripped as I got into my bedroom and crawled beneath the covers. Shaking, curled up into a little ball with my knees clutched to my chest; I cried and cried and cried.<p>

"Leigh?" Even so deep in misery I couldn't fail to hear Tony's voice. I froze, mid-sob. I could hear him, moving around in my sitting room. Could hear his footsteps outside the door, his hand on the doorknob—

In a second I had rolled off the bed and crawled into the closet, pulling the door in behind me. I was hidden behind rows and rows of dresses and coats, but I could still manage to peer through the crack of the door.

Tony walked in; head craning left and right, as he kept calling my name softly, persistently. He stopped in front my bed, watching the disarray I'd left of the covers, and turned abruptly to face the closet where I hid.

Crouched amidst my shoes, I sank backwards to let my clothes further obscure me. If he opened the door, I hoped that all he would see was clothing, and wouldn't think to look further… The smell of starch filled my nose and I nervously wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt.

Go away, my mind screamed, even as my body was frozen. Go away go away go away!

Footsteps again, this time retreating. I pushed my face out from the dresses to again press my eye to the closet door and catch sight of Tony.

"She must be with Troy," Tony said quietly, walking back toward my bedroom door. Only when I heard the final click of my door shutting did I crawl back out of the closet to lie down on my bed.

As though my terror at Tony finding me had dried my tears, I calmed down. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the sheer ivory curtains, and gave the room a muted, dream-like quality. The maids had left the windows open so a slight breeze came wafting in carrying with it the scents of pine, and balsam, and the briny sea.

This was the sort of day that I loved usually; the sort of day I would force Troy outside to play, and stay outside roaming in the maze until it was nearly time to dress for dinner. But now… whatever beauties of the world lay outside, inside I lay dry-eyed on the bed. For a second – a brief, intense second- I wished I would die. Close my eyes, exhale one last time, and not have to ever wake up.

But no one dies from wishing it, and eventually I sat up. My thighs hurt, and I felt bruised and raw. My eyes were swollen, and I could still feel the tear tracks down my cheeks. Tentatively, one step at a time I walked into the bathroom, wincing as I bent to fill the bathtub with hot water. As though in a dream I moved, locking the door, shaking rose scented bubble bath into the rapidly filling tub, shedding my clothes and noticing without really seeing the bruises on my arms and hips where Tony had held me, before I slid into the water.

It was hotter than I expected, stinging my skin to an angry red, but I stayed in the water. Sliding down until my face was below the surface, I closed my eyes and held my breath.

It seemed like forever I stayed in the bathtub, but it could only have been an hour or so. The water had become chilled and I briskly dried my skin and wrung water from my hair. I pulled on a flannel nightgown, thick and warm and my shivering ceased.

"I have to talk to someone," I said aloud. My voice came out in a croak, and I cleared my throat, hands balled up in fists at my sides. "I have to talk to someone," I whispered to the still dark air of my bedroom, and almost at once I wanted to cry again. Who was there to talk to? As before, my choices were gone. Briefly I considered Charity, but what could I say to her. And she had –despite what had happened between us that night– never been such a friend that I could feel comfortable confiding in her.

All at once my stomach grumbled and I glanced at my clock. Eleven o'clock. Long past dinner; in fact, long past when anyone would be awake, which was just as well.

I padded barefoot through the halls of Farthy to where I knew the kitchen was, determined to find something to eat. The demands of my stomach superseded even my thoughts and as I entered the spacious, gleaming kitchen my stomach growled again.

"Heavens, child! You frightened me!"

A loud voice rang out across the room, and I yelped in surprise, spinning around. If I had frightened the speaker, that was nothing to what it had done to me. I grabbed at my chest, feeling my heartbeat racing beneath my fingers.

"You must be Miss Leigh," he said, breaking into a broad smile. His teeth gleamed as white as his chef's hat and jacket in sharp comparison to his round dark face. Something about the friendliness shining from his eyes made me smile in return.

"Yes,' I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Leigh."

"Pleased to meet you. You gave me quite a fright, Miss Leigh. I didn't know what ghost was coming into my kitchen to frighten Rye Whiskey to death."

Barefoot, with my hair streaming back, in a thickly concealing white nightgown, I understood how I could have passed for a ghost. I smiled at him.

"Rye Whiskey? Is that your name?"

"It's Ryse Williams," he said, "but I've been called Rye Whiskey since I was eighteen, on account of my fondness for it." He gave me a wink, and I grinned back at him.

"Now, what can I do for you? I've heard that you missed dinner." I nodded. " Let me see what I can put together."

Before my eyes. Rye whipped into action, pulling bread from one cupboard, placing a small saucepan upon the stove, chopping onions and grating cheese.

"Now, sit right there," he gestured, pulling up a tall stool to the counter and placing a steaming bowl of onion soup before it. Never had soup been so good! I burned my tongue on the first spoonful, but the broth trickled down my throat, rich and flavorful.

Rye worked as I ate, putting away dishes, scrubbing the already gleaming stove. When I finally put my spoon down, he turned, with the air of a magician to hand me a napkin full of cookies and a small mug of cocoa.

"It's late," he said. "Take dessert to bed with you."

Ten minutes later saw me tucked up in bed, sipping hot chocolate and munching cookies. For the first time in a very long time, I opened my drawer to pull out my photo album. The only thing I'd changed in the album since I had come to Farthy was that I had slipped a picture of Joshua into one of the last pages, but I hadn't felt the urge to document anything else. But now, I spread it across my lap and began to flip through from the beginning. The copy of my birth announcement. Leigh Diane Vanvoreen, born June 17th, to Jillian Vanvoreen nee Jankins, and Cleave Vanvoreen. Formal baby pictures gave way to snapshots from each birthday, each vacation, each holiday and special event in my life. My writing, uneven and childish captioned each picture. The ballet performance when I was six, swathed in pink tulle. It was the last time I danced, because the next year, I began swimming. My first blue ribbon for a swimming competition when I was seven. Riding horses at Grandma's ranch in Texas, the summer I was nine. London with Mother and Daddy, when I was ten. Ice skating at Jenny's eleventh birthday party. The last picture I'd put in was from my twelfth party; surrounded by Daddy and all my friends. My fingers traced over the smile on my face. It must have been right before we cut the cake, right after Daddy came in. I could read the happiness all over my features. And innocence? Yes, innocence too. In my eyes, you could see the contentedness of a child who has never known unhappiness, heartbreak or pain.

I peeled back the plastic on the following pages and began to put in more recent pictures. Thanksgiving, as I sat at the table with Mother and Tony. The 8th grade chorus at Winterhaven's Holiday concert. Mother's second wedding, me looking unhappy and lost with Troy by my side.

At the sight of that last picture, my fingers stilled. Mother, serenely happy on Tony's arm. Tony himself, giving a cheerful and confident grin for the camera.

I slammed the album shut and shoved it back into my drawer.

I dressed the next day in a dark blue dress; high collared and long sleeved, as though I were swathing myself in armor. Armor against Tony Tatterton. Armor against the world. And armor, if I were to be honest with myself, against the leaden weights of guilt and shame that filled me.

Last night, I'd been consumed with the horror of what Tony had done to me. But today, as the thin cold sun streaming in the window, I was disgusted with myself.

How could I have done something like that? I had kissed Tony, and started all of this. Tony! Mother's second husband. My hand stilled as I brushed my hair. How could I have done something like that to her?

I quietly ran down to the kitchen, and peeked in the door. I'd been hoping to return the mug Rye Whisky had given me last night, and to replace it for breakfast.

As quietly as I slipped in, Rye still heard me and turned around with a broad smile. His hands, busy chopping vegetables never slowed, and he jerked his chin toward the stovetop.

"Pancakes," he said, "still warm. There is raspberry jam on the counter for you."

Rather shyly, I smiled and whispered my thanks as I retrieved the plate.

"How did you know I'd be down here?" I asked, around a bite of the most luscious pancakes I'd ever eaten.

"Oh," Rye said carelessly, "I've been here a long time. I know people.

"But also, Mr. Tatterton came in this morning, and told me this is your favorite breakfast. Asked if I'd have it ready for you."

My last bite turned to sand within my mouth, and I groped for my glass, hoping to gulp down enough milk to pass it down my throat.

"Mr. Tatterton?" I asked, in a tremulous voice. "Mr. Tatterton told you it's my favorite?"

"Yes, he told me you have it every birthday, and every time you feel a bit sad. Said he thought you'd appreciate it for a treat this morning."

In the back of my mind, I vaguely remembered saying something like that to Tony, back when we were getting along. With Troy cheerfully playing on the floor between us, we'd had a long conversation about likes and dislikes, favorite foods and books and movies. How had he remembered such a thing? And why?

"Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Leigh," Rye said with another grin, as he returned to the pile of vegetables before him. I stared down at my plate, willing myself to pick up the fork and keep eating. But, delicious though the pancakes were, I found myself unable to take another bite.

I wandered the grounds alone, the grass lightly springing up green beneath my restless feet. And as I walked, my mind calmed down from the frustrated circles it had been running.

I'd been right. I needed to talk to someone - needed help and kindness and understanding about what had been done to me - needed absolution for what _I'd_ done, like in the Bible stories I'd read as a child, before Mother's stoic disinterest of God had become my own. Last night I'd felt so alone, but I wasn't completely. A silly hope fired my thoughts all through that day, the wistful hope of a child; but inside, I let myself believe. I did have someone to call; two people in fact. Daddy. And Grandma Jana.

But Grandma Jana wasn't available. A sick horse, her housekeeper informed me, had kept her in the stable all morning and afternoon. Fingers trembling, I dialed Daddy's work number, hoping against hope he'd be there. But he wasn't. Again and again I tried, all day. And with each phone call, with each message that I left with his secretary, my hope died a little more. Why wasn't he calling me back? What was more important than me? The calm I'd felt earlier that day fell away, and my anger and frustration came back. Once upon a time, I would have been Daddy's first priority. Now, he couldn't even answer a phone call.

As the sun went down, I slipped outside to pace outside the house.

"It's all Tony's fault," I whispered aloud to the chill wind and the trees around me. Everything… the blame for it all could be laid at his doorstep. Mother's selfishness. Daddy's absorption into work. My loneliness. The horrors of last night. I hugged my arms around myself, tears spilling over my cheeks

It was late when I slipped back into Farthy, the night sky a uniform and unyielding slate blue. I pushed open the door to Tony's office and simply stood, not saying a word. I couldn't trust myself to speak.

The desk lamp was lit, shining like a star in the darkness of the room. Tony sat at his desk, pen stilled as he looked up at me.

Outside this room, outside this house people were going on with their life; laughing, crying, being happy, sad. But in here, time stood still. Neither of us spoke.

I took one trembling step through the doorway. As though that small movement had burst a dam within me, I found myself hissing at him.

"I hate you," I said through clenched teeth. "I hate you, Tony Tatterton. I hate you for splitting up my family. For making Daddy so sad he runs away from everything that he once loved that reminds him of Mother…even me. I hate that Mother is so concerned about having your baby that she forgets to love the daughter she already has. I hate how you look at me. How you pretended to be my friend and to be so nice and then you - you did -" My words failed me and my eyes filled with tears.

"I hate you for last night!" I managed to say, before I began to sob.

"I know," Tony said quietly.

If he'd said anything else, I could have maintained my storm of hatred. But his voice was filled with all the sadness of the world, placed in those two small words.

A tissue pressed into my hand, and I realized that he stood before me.

"The only one I hate more than you right now, is myself," I whispered. Shock ran over Tony's face.

"Why?"

"Mother." It was one word, but oh, how it hurt to say it. I closed my eyes, trying to stem the tears that still dripped down my cheeks.

"Leigh," Tony said gently. Dimly I was aware of his hand on my arm. "She's not pregnant."

I squinted at him, rubbing my eyes with the tissue and blowing my nose. "But-"

"No." Something hard crept into his voice. "She told me at Easter."

I remembered that night, surprising him in the pool. His bitterness and anger, so clear to understand now.

"But she never said… well, not to me…" My words faded. Another secret for Mother, another thing not to share. I bit my lip. Why was I still surprised by her, by the things she felt unimportant to say? And to me! Her own daughter.

"No," Tony said. "She wouldn't have said it; not even to me, if I hadn't spoken to her doctor. Admitting it would make it real to her." Tony sounded weary, far older than a twenty two year old should sound.

"Jill likes to hide," he murmured softly. "From everything and everyone who could force her to live in reality, and to acknowledge what she'd rather pretend doesn't exist."

Like me, I thought. Like how she stopped spending time with me and stopped introducing me to her friends; acts which led to her ignoring my feelings and my presence in her life. Pretending I'm not her daughter to protect her greatest secret: her age.

"It doesn't matter," I mumbled. "It was still wrong. For everyone.

"And, making… love," my tongue tripped over the words, "shouldn't be… like that."

Tony sighed. "Sometimes," he said, his voice so faint I had to strain to hear it, "not everything is about love. Sometimes it's about comfort. And desire. About satisfying the cravings of your body.

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly. "I'm sorry for hurting you. But, haven't you ever been so caught in passion that you forgot everything?"

_Yes_, my mind prompted. Oh yes, I knew what he meant.

"It was wrong. But…" I looked up at him, seeing something I had never thought could ever happen: the urbane and indomitable Tony Tatterton at a loss for words.

"I wanted it," Tony said, in a rough, harsh voice, as though the words were being ripped from his throat. "I wanted _you_. The way you tip your head to the side when you smile. How you laugh, and your eyes light up. How you bite your lip when you are thinking, and tuck your hair behind your ears.

"I just wanted you. I knew it was wrong, but I thought it would just be a kiss. I expected you to laugh at me and walk out of the office. But you didn't. And if I had any sense, I would have told you to leave… but I didn't want you to. And I didn't want to stop."

I bowed my head, unable to meet his eyes. I understand what he meant, about not wanting to stop. It didn't make last night better. But that, at least, I could understand.

"Do you hate me, Leigh?" I looked up at Tony, straight into his eyes. There was a great sadness in his face, and an intensity in his gaze that made me shiver with a trace of fear and great deal of anticipation.

"I should."

But those were the only words I managed to get out. Somehow we were kissing, his arms around me, cradling me to his chest.

It was still wrong, so wrong for him to be kissing and caressing me like he was. But it dulled the ever-present pain of Daddy's absence, of Mother's indifference. Vaguely I understood what Tony had meant about comfort and desire; not love or even affection. And deep within me dwelled another thought, one that I tried not to focus on consciously. He wanted me. _Me._ It felt like so long since someone did.

So I didn't think of how wrong it was. I didn't protest as his kisses grew hotter, as he unzipped my dress and it fell to pool at my feet, as he laid me down upon the sofa. He kissed down my neck, his breath feverishly hot upon my skin as his lips trailed down my shoulders, his hand cupping my breasts and fingers pinching my nipples. Of their own volition, my arms went around him, my fingers clutched at the crisp fabric of his shirt as I cried out from the sudden jolt of pleasure when his teeth grazed over my nipples. Lower and lower his kisses went, his lips gentle on my stomach and my hips before he parted my legs.

Instinct made me try to clamp them shut, he gave a soft chuckle.

"No, no, sweetheart," he murmured, his hands on my knees, holding my legs open before he bent his head down. His tongue trailed up my thigh before beginning to tease me, right at what felt like the center of my being. A muffled sound, half surprise, half pleasure came from my lips, and I arched my back, trying to press myself further into his flickering tongue, his fingers probing gently into me.

"Oh please, please." I almost couldn't identify the voice as mine. The words were almost unintelligible and I moaned, weaving my fingers through his silky golden hair, wanting more, needing more and more.

Cool air hit my skin, as Tony got up and I moaned again in longing and frustration. Like magic, he appeared again, and I felt his body on top of me.

A hint of fear shot through me, as my body remembered the previous night. But it was forgotten a moment later. He was gentle, so very gentle as his lips captured mine in a deep kiss and he entered me. Funny, what had caused so much pain the first time now thrilled me. I clung to him, as the driving rhythm of our bodies increased and my pleasure mounted with every second. I cried out when it felt like my world exploded, and I clung to Tony, even as he then trembled and moaned himself, holding me close to him.

"Do you hate me," he asked again, very quietly a few minutes later. I lay within his arms, feeling as I'd never felt before. Complete. Exhilarated. And… beautiful. Wanted.

"I should," I whispered again, as I leaned over to kiss his lips, very gently.


	13. Chapter 12: Remembering, Forgetting

_Apology first: sorry this has taken so long to update. Besides a strange work schedule, I split my time between two fandoms and sometimes one wins over the other._

_But thank you guys for reading and reviewing and being patient! It means the world to me, and I adore you all. (and I promise; it might take awhile to update, but the fic will be finished…)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 12- Remembering, Forgetting<strong>

But I didn't. I didn't hate him the rest of that night after I'd crept back to my room; my lips tingling and my body heavy and sated. And I didn't hate him the following morning either, as I sat in the living room playing endless games with Troy. There weren't strong enough words in the world to describe what I was feeling beyond confusion, an unwillingness in my mind to acknowledge what had happened and to even wonder what might occur next. So impossible to hate him as I should… because last night had been my fault, too. I could have run. I could have screamed and fought.

But I hadn't. And if I had to admit the truth… I'd wanted it. Wanted those sensations, thrilling and blinding and utterly wrong. Had loved that feeling, beneath his caresses and murmured endearments that he desired _me_.

No, I didn't hate Tony. I should; but I couldn't.

It was an unusual occurrence; everyone in the house all together in the same room. Mother, miraculously awake before noon, and sitting primly as she flipped through a fashion magazine, avidly absorbing information about beauty regimes and the spring line in Milan. And Tony, quietly reading his newspaper and seemingly ignoring me, as I did him.

And yet, I couldn't ignore him completely. As though there was something drawing my attention, I kept sneaking glances every so often, my eyes taking in flashes of detail as sharp as if I were snapping a series of close-up photographs. The little crease between his brows, and the frown as he read something he evidently disagreed with. His profile; the sharp angles of nose and cheekbones, his lips soft and smooth. His fingers on the edge of the pages; those long, square-tipped fingers that just last night had caressed me with such gentleness and reverence…

_ Crack_. The little ball that Troy and I had been rolling to each other slipped from my hand to thud against the floor, making everyone look up in surprise as I jumped nervously.

"Sorry," I muttered, cheeks flaming as I crawled across the floor to where it had rolled, next to Tony's ankle. But before I could reach it, he'd picked it up and held it out with a smile, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since last night.

"I think you dropped this?" he said, his tone nonchalant.

"It slipped." I reached out to take it from him and my fingers brushed against his palm with a palpable zing of electric shock. We both stilled immediately, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at him.

I _should_ hate him, I thought, my eyes and ears and senses full of his nearness, and my traitorous mind awash with images from last night. His eyes bored into mine; summer blue suddenly eclipsed with the depthless black of his pupils, and I could feel our breathing synchronize… small, shallow breaths that felt as though all the air in the room was sucked away.

"Leigh dear, what's wrong?" I tore my eyes from Tony to see Mother looking at me in confusion. How long had we been frozen like that; hands clasped, gazing at each other? Long enough to be noticeable.

"Nothing," I stammered, pulling my hand away. "Nothing's wrong."

"Then take your toy and say thank you. Honestly," Mother said, flipping a page so hard it almost ripped, "you should be careful with your things. It almost marred the finish of the floor."

"It's a toy, Jill. Not a bomb." Tony's voice was mild, almost censuring. "And you know, Leigh is getting too old for you to scold her like a child."

I risked one more sidelong glance at him, before I rolled the ball back to Troy. The faint smile on his face was normal, so very normal… but his eyes were still dark as he watched me. Dark and thoughtful.

I should hate him; oh, I should, I should… But it was hard to bury those feelings. Not just the thrill of his body on top mine, that tingling euphoric release when I closed my eyes and almost thought I could see the stars. But the rest of it. That right or wrong, he'd wanted me. That he'd cared about me.

I should hate him. But I couldn't somehow. And even worse of all… I didn't think I wanted to. My cheeks reddened slightly as I pulled my gaze away, willing my heart to stop racing.

Mother gave a little laugh, high and breathy as she flipped another page. "She's a child yet. Look at her. On the floor, playing with Troy."

"I am looking," Tony murmured, turning back to his newspaper. "I think sometimes you don't."

"I do," Mother insisted, still with that annoying, chittering giggle. "I know she's getting older… oh, but you'll understand what I mean one day when we have our own child. Age is just a number, darling. Leigh will always be my little girl, just as sweet and innocent at thirty as she was at five."

How strange to hear words like those. As sweet and innocent at thirty, as I was at five? What sort of Mother says something like that? As though the years I've lived mean nothing; the experiences I've had changed nothing about me at all.

I'm not the same girl I was two years ago; to say nothing of two days ago. And so much of it is her fault, all her fault. What would I have been like, if my childhood never changed? Would I be the Leigh Vanvoreen that she'd loved; or would life still somehow have turned me into who I was now… I looked up at her, seeing her and yet not seeing her all at the same time. Her beauty, so carefully honed and preserved, and yet nothing, nothing in her eyes.

"Am I ?" I asked archly, the words sliding from my mouth despite myself. "_Am_ I still your little girl?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mother said absently. "Don't I make sure you have pretty clothes and jewelry and other fancy things? Aren't you living here in Farthy with me, like a princess? What else would all that mean?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my lips tightly together to hold back the tears and the scream that threatened to emerge. She dared to claim that clothing and housing me was proof of her love… but those things weren't privilege! They were a _right_. Having a child meant doing the best you could for them. It meant looking up, once in awhile, from egotistical self absorption. It meant loving and talking and getting to know me as I grew up, it meant that I should be able to talk and share my feelings and never once fear that she'd dismiss my concerns or only hear what she chose to.

"Then let's spend the day together," I said suddenly. "Do you remember how we used to do that, long ago? You'd take me to the zoo, and we would laugh and laugh, imitating the animals. And then we'd go to the playground and you'd push me on the swings… and then we'd have ice cream at Martinelli's. Strawberry ice cream topped with whipped cream, in fancy dishes… and you'd scold me about dropping any of it on my dress, and tuck napkins into my collar so that I'd stay clean. I was so proud the day I was seven, and I managed to eat and not make a mess for the first time ever."

There was silence in the room, a silence that went on and on. I could feel Tony's eyes on me, appraising and pitying; and across from me, Troy sat as though frozen… but I paid no attention to anyone else. My eyes stayed fixed on Mother. The high cheekbones, her pale golden eyelashes fluttering down over blue eyes as she avoided my gaze. Why wouldn't she look at me? Was she afraid that if she did, her whole world and all the lies it was based on would come crashing down around her?

Or perhaps, paying attention to her daughter was a hardship, after all.

"If you'd like," I went on, my voice hypnotically soft, "we could just spend a day at home. Remember, when you taught me to make papier mâché jewelry? I had just started at Winterhaven, and I was so homesick… but you said that even if I was only home on the weekends, we'd make that time count. Give me good memories to take back to school with me, to remember until the next time I was back again. So we mixed papier mâché and I told you all about my teachers and the books I was reading, and you said how much you loved hearing about what I was doing… And I made you that blue pendant, like a flower. You said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever owned and you'd keep it forever.

"Do you remember those days? Because I do. I remember them all."

I want you to prove it. The words burned to come out, but I held them in. I want you to prove to me that you're still my Mother, my beautiful Mother whom I'd loved so much. Prove that last night was wrong, that Tony is not the only one who wants me and thinks of me. That you do, too. That you still love me.

"We never do anything like that, not anymore," I murmured. There was still not a sound in the room, not a twitch or a wiggle from even Troy. "Not since we moved-"

I'd never thought a magazine closing could make a sound like a gunshot. But it did, and the rest of my words died, unspoken on my tongue.

"I'm busy," Mother snapped, her southern drawl so evident in her irritation. "I've got things to do; appointments to keep today."

"Shall I make an appointment to spend time with you, Mother?" Anger was starting to creep into my voice, my words emerging clipped and furious. "How is next Friday for you, then? Or shall I schedule for sometime next year?"

Mother stood abruptly, shoulders back and head tossed high. "Don't be ridiculous, Leigh. You don't have to schedule time with me; but with you're a child! Your days are full of that school and your little friends; and you can not imagine all the demands I have on my time! And I simply can not spend what I do have frittering it away on the silly things I was forced to do, to entertain you when you were young."

Her words fell like bombs as she paused, unknowing or perhaps uncaring of how harsh they were. _She doesn't care_, I chanted miserably inside my head, wrapping my arms around my stomach. She doesn't see me, and she doesn't care… and perhaps I am ten times a fool for even trying to recapture what we used to have together. Because I knew all along… that Mother, the woman of my childhood is gone. And I don't think she'll ever come back.

"Besides," Mother continued with her breathy laugh, voice back to her high society, whispery cultured ways. "I doubt you'd want to spend a day making clunky circles out of dirty paper to pass off as jewelry. You know what real things of value are, now. Don't you have that necklace we gave you at Christmas; that pretty one with the diamonds? Isn't something like that so much better than some silly thing a little girl would make?"

"Some things sparkle more than gems," I said, my voice sharp. "What something looks like on the surface is not as important as what's inside, or the care it was made with."

But I saw in an instant that my words, and even my tone was being ignored as she turned away from me. It was as though I hadn't even spoken at all.

"If you want to spend some time with me, be a good girl and come up to my room to help me get dressed. I have got to meet the girls for lunch, and then I've got a manicure booked…" Mother's voice grew fainter as she walked up the stairs, and I glared at her back, my throat tight and hot with unshed tears.

Tony stretched out a hand to help me off the floor and I took it reluctantly, feeling his palm warm and secure beneath my trembling fingers.

"You should go," he said quietly, his voice full of pity. "If you want to… I don't think she'll be back until late. We're going to a party this evening; and you leave for Winterhaven in the morning, don't you? If you don't go now, you won't see her until next week."

"Perhaps she'll have time then," I muttered. "I'll pencil myself in."

He gave a short bark of laughter, less from humor than to release the tension in the room.

"Perhaps we both should," he answered. There was a tone in his voice, slightly sad and mocking all at the same time. "You're not the only one who rarely sees her for quality time."

Small fingers clutched the edge of my skirt, tugging slightly until I looked to see Troy by my side. "Can we?" he whispered, eyes large and worried as he looked up at me, "make that paper stuff? Can we? What is it?"

I forced a smile on my face, reaching down to tousle his hair.

"Haven't you ever played with that? It's paper… wet paper, that dries hard. And you can build things out of it." His eyes widened and a grin broke out across his face; and suddenly my own smile relaxed and felt more natural. The first real smile I'd had in weeks it seemed. "Of course we can, if you want?"

"Yes! Yes yes yes yes!" Troy jumped up and down, dark hair flying and I stroked it down with a gentle hand.

"It'll be fun. The two of us. We'll have a good day; one to remember until I come back next week from school. Go upstairs then, and put on some old clothes that won't get ruined. I'll come up in a few minutes with the supplies." Almost before I'd finished the sentence, Troy ran away. I stood for a moment, listening to his frantic scramble up the stairs, the sound of his footsteps receding away from us into his room, before I looked back at Tony.

It was the first time since last night that we'd been alone, and there were so many things that could have been said. Words; angry, ugly words blistered the inside of my throat and teetered on the tip of my tongue. _I should hate you_ and _last night was wrong_ and _don't ever touch me again, I don't care how good it felt, it will never, ever happen again. _Words like that.

But I was so wrung out from speaking to Mother. So… empty. As though she'd effectively stripped away another little layer of _me_, with her inability to care, to put me first in her life. I'd thought the last two years couldn't surprise me more about her… but like a fool, and the child she considered me, I kept hoping for things to be different. And they weren't.

Children think that growing up is easy. That you get older and bigger, and things will always make sense. But they don't. You get wiser with each passing year; you learn more about living, about people and life… and somehow everything isn't right anymore. Its twisted and turned around, and everything that you thought you knew was right just isn't anymore… Everything is wrong… or maybe it was just me. My life. Wrong and terrible and so very, very lonely.

So I stood with Tony, words pent up inside and my brain quiet and dead when he cleared his throat, eyebrows raising quizzically.

"You liked the zoo?" he asked. "As a child? Was that your favorite thing?"

It was the last thing in the world I'd expected him to say, and my mouth gaped for a moment.

"Doesn't every child?" I stammered. I shook my head in surprise, my hair flying around my shoulders in a bright flash of pale gold, catching the sunlight. "Yes, I liked it. It's the zoo, with all the animals…"

"I didn't," Tony said, drawing his thumb slowly over the inside of my wrist. Until then, I hadn't even remembered that my hand was still in his, but I did now. The warm flesh of his palm against my own, the soft shiver of skin stroking skin.

"I thought it was frightening how they were caged," he murmured. "How cruel that things so proud and beautiful were at our mercy. But of course I was very little, then. My parents took me when I was about Troy's age but I cried so hard they never took me back."

"Mother and I went once a month," I said hesitantly. "Sometimes by ourselves, or with Daddy. She would sketch them in motion… and sometimes she'd give me the camera so that I could try taking pictures by myself. It was my favorite thing to do on the weekends."

"We both grew up in Boston, but we had such different childhoods," Tony said softly. "I think I'd rather have had yours. Happy. With good memories." His thumb grazed higher up, tracing over my pulse point and I jumped, my cheeks reddening.

"Don't you have good memories?" I asked curiously, wanting to draw my hand away and yet simultaneously slide it more into his.

There was a slight darkening of his features, a tiny frown before he smiled, releasing my hand.

"Some," he answered, turning away from me toward his office. "There are a few things that I remember; but they're not really from childhood.

"I've got some work to do, Leigh. I'll check in on you and Troy later, alright?"

But I didn't even have time to answer before he disappeared, and I heard the snap of his office door closing with an odd finality.

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><p>We didn't make jewelry that day, Troy and I. But we made animals: lions and giraffes and bears… and one thing that Troy swore earnestly was a horse, but looked more like a dog. There was a veritable Noah's ark by the time Tony popped his head in the door, smiling when he saw Troy snuggled by my side, clothes liberally coated with floury paper and glue.<p>

"I'm painting!" Troy announced cheerfully, waving a brush with artless abandon, and splattering yellow paint on my cheek.

"I see," Tony chuckled. "Be careful though; you got Leigh. Its lucky yellow suits her."

"I'm fine," I said, getting up to get a tissue. "And I'm washable." I glanced in the mirror, but Tony reached out, turning me to face him.

"Let me," he murmured, using his handkerchief to wipe my cheek. I could feel the heat from his fingertip through the fine linen, his other hand blazing hot on my shoulder as he held me in place.

"All better?" I asked. The time with Troy had made me smile, made me forget the events of the past few days, and Tony's face relaxed as he observed me.

"In more ways than one, I think. You look… happier than you were this morning." His hand, heavy and almost possessive on my shoulder was at such odds with his voice, bright and deliberately cheerful, as though he'd never had a bad thought in his life. Such an array of contradictions in Tony that night… and despite myself, I found I was breathing faster; tiny, shallow pants… was that why I felt so light headed? The scent of his cologne, warm with undertones of musk invading my nose and tickling my memory. His eyes, serene and yet somehow shuttered; the steady blue light of them both bright and dark at the same time and impossible to read.

We were standing so close… too close, almost. If I took half a step I'd be pressed right against him; but he moved first. Away from me; with a slight warning look in his eyes and a stern set to his mouth.

"We made animals," I said, gesturing at the figures scattered around the room. How strange that the relief I should have felt when he'd moved away echoed in my chest, beating and re-emerging as a faint pang of regret. "A zoo of them; much better than jewelry."

Tony clasped his hands and leaned closer, seemingly forgetful of his tuxedo and dress shoes as he sank to the floor to gaze at them. "Those are Troy's," he said immediately, staring intently at a few of them. "Good proportions… realistic depictions even in such a medium. And I think those must be yours, then."

"I'm a terrible artist," I said, sitting down heavily beside him and sighing a little. "Mother – she tried to teach me about perspective and color and shading, but I'm still so bad at it."

"Me too," Tony confessed. When I looked at him, he was grinning wickedly.

"My parents knew, ever since I was little that I'd never be a craftsman. I was never very good at anything creative… That's why my father pushed me so hard in the business aspect. He would never have said it, I think he felt that even if I had no talent, at least I'd be of some use to the company.

"I'm just sorry," Tony added softly, "that my parents both died before they knew that Troy inherited all the creative genes. I think they would have been happy with him."

If anyone was meant to create and craft; it would be my small brother. We both turned, watching Troy humming Fur Elise beneath his breath and completely absorbed in his task, squinting and scrutinizing one of the giraffes as he carefully splotched it with brown paint.

"I'm sure they were happy with you, too," I said, feeling a bit shy. "Even if you're not the creative type."

Tony glanced at me, tucking his hand into mine and smiling slightly.

"It's not as bad as I've made it sound. I was good at other things; they were proud of me. Parents are always proud…" His words died out, and he squeezed my fingers slightly before quickly releasing them. He leaned over to press a kiss to Troy's forehead, then walked to the door without looking back at me.

"I really just came in to tell the two of you good night. Jill and I are leaving; so Leigh, we'll see you next weekend."

"Wait!" The word burst from my lips, and Tony stopped in the doorway, turning slightly so I could see his profile illuminated in the light from the hall.

"I should go," he said, not quite looking at me. "I have a beautiful and impatient wife waiting for me to escort her to yet another party. I know there are so many men who wish they could have your mother on their arm…"

It could have been my imagination, but I could almost taste the tang of annoyance in his voice. The bitterness and mocking; the trapped, shuttered light in his eyes.

"We didn't talk about-" I faltered, not knowing what to say. What does a girl of thirteen know about how to introduce such a topic… and to such a man. His body tensed, and he turned fully to me.

"There's no reason to," he answered tersely. "Last night was… it was a time that shouldn't have happened, Leigh. It's not what we're supposed to be; and while I know you're not a child-" he smiled gently, mockingly "-I should be old enough to have never forgotten that. It's the smart thing to do, for us to never discuss it again. Forget and move on, for everyone's sakes."

It was the correct thing to say. His words should have brought relief that maybe we could do that. And yet… I looked at him, standing in the doorway of Troy's room, handsome and strong and righteous in his belief that we could disregard the last two nights.

But I can't. I can't forget, and I can't hate him, and I can't even find it within my heart to hate myself to how I was feeling. _Drawn_. Drawn to him, little strings of desire and destiny, weaving us closer and closer together, despite all the reasons not to.

And in the end, I wasn't brave enough to do what I wanted. To run over to him, fling my arms around him and press my lips to his, or to even tell him that I couldn't forget.

"Fine," I muttered, looking away and firmly burying those traitorous, exhilarating thoughts down in my mind.. "You're right. I'm sure it'll be easy not to remember."


	14. Chapter 13: Nothing and Everything

_It's been far longer than I intended between chapters and I'm so sorry! (Leigh chose chapter 13 to become stubborn and refuse to do what she was told.)_

_Thanks to Sarah Blackwood for the endless amounts of cheerleading, deep character analysis, and the beta. (Go check out her stories; she's fabulous.) Thanks to everyone else for being patient, and for the reviews and the favourites and alerts._

_Finally: this chapter is a present –much belated by now- for Gwen. Congratulations! and much luck and happiness to you! _

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><p><strong>Chapter 13- Nothing and Everything<strong>

That night might have been a mistake, it might have been something that should never have happened... but I couldn't get it out of my mind over the next week. Back at Winterhaven, surrounded by the familiarity of school and homework and classmates, it should have been easy to forget. Nothing should have reminded me of Tony.

But everything did. I brushed my hair in the mornings and thought of it fanned over us both in a pale shimmering veil, as we lay entwined on his couch. I heard hints of his laughter –that deep, amused chuckle- in the voices of radio presenters; and when I closed my eyes, I could see his smile. Soft, gentle, affectionate; not just on his lips but over his whole face, shining from his eyes. The one he seemed to reserve only for Troy, and for me.

And at night, shedding my uniform and standing only in panties before the mirror; I thought of Tony sliding my dress from my body, kissing each inch of skin he bared. It drove me to thrash around sleeplessly in bed until the covers were twisted around me, body aching with frustration as I thought about the joy I'd found in his arms.

"I think Leigh might have a sweetheart," Charity teased one evening, baring her teeth at me in a shark-like smile. "Have we ever seen her so distracted, girls?"

"I haven't got a sweetheart," I said automatically. "I would have said if I did."

"Would you?" she challenged. Her green eyes narrowed, sweeping over my face, down my body. "You've always been such a secretive one, Leigh." Her voice dipped lower, until it was nothing more than a seductive whisper.

"You're sure there's nothing you're hiding? Because you came back from vacation, and something seems..." She cocked her head, auburn hair trailing over her shoulder and a tiny smirk on her lips.

"Something seems so different about you."

"There's nothing different about me." I spit the lie out between clenched teeth, crossing my arms. Silently daring her to ask anything further.

"Seems to me, though," I said a moment later, fixing her with a challenging look, "that you've got some secrets of your own. But then again, I'm sure _everyone_ has things they've done or been involved in that maybe they'd prefer to keep to themselves."

If I hadn't had my eyes fixed on her, if I hadn't gotten to know Charity as well as I had; I might have missed the look on her face. Surprise that I'd allude to that night we'd been together; and in front of our friends. I flipped my hair over my shoulder, gave a tinkling giggle worthy of Mother at her finest; and the conversation turned to other things until everyone filed out of the room toward their own beds.

Charity grabbed my arm as I made to walk past her, pulling me back inside and shutting the door firmly behind us.

"You promised," she hissed at me, her cheeks pink in anger. "You said you wouldn't tell."

"I didn't tell."

"No, but- you were acting as though- you said..." I'd never seen Charity like this. Flustered and uncomfortable. For an instant, she was nothing more than the fourteen year old schoolgirl that she was, instead of the slyly mature instigator I'd always known.

"I promised I wouldn't tell," I told her. "And I wouldn't. I keep my word, Charity."

"It didn't mean anything, anyway. Us. It was just practice. For fun."

I couldn't help the words that came out of my mouth as I leaned into her, closer and closer until our bodies were pressed together and my lips brushed against the side of hers.

"Apparently, it never does mean anything."

And I kissed her then. Fiercely. Recklessly. Slid my tongue into her mouth and ignored her grunt of surprise; trailed my hand over the curve of her waist and the soft round of her buttocks beneath a flimsy nightgown so I could yank her closer, my leg trapped between hers as I rocked my hips forward, hearing her breath hitch and her arms tightened around me.

I wouldn't have expected her to be the one to pull away; but she did. Rested her forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily.

"You are different," she said flatly. "And don't tell me that you're not, because you _are._ What happened to you over vacation? It's like... It's like you grew up all of a sudden. You were this sweet little girl before Easter; and now it's like the Leigh I always knew went away and there's this new person.

"It feels," she faltered, "like I don't know you at all. What happened?"

Images flashed through my head, bright with colour and emotion. Tony's fingers pulling my top down to cover my breasts in the pool; his face close to mine as he asked if I knew about what wives do. The helplessness as I wandered Farthy's grounds, feeling ashamed, dirty; lying entwined on his couch that evening feeling the complete opposite. His face –blank, peaceful- as he delivered his speech about how we were stepfather and daughter, and it had all been a mistake; my own thrice-damned mind for not erasing those thoughts and continuing to dwell upon him.

What had happened to me over Easter? Was there anything I could say?

"I don't know what you mean," I answered instead, trailing kisses slowly down her neck, pushing the neckline of her nightgown aside. "I'm the same as I've always been. I guess you didn't know me as well as you thought."

I slept better that night than I had all week. Even after I crept back to my own bed, my limbs were pleasantly languid, my body sated and mind finally at peace. It had been ridiculous to think of Tony, I thought sleepily. Ridiculous to fall asleep with the memory of his kisses, to wake in the morning irritable and shaking because my sleeping mind remembered the exquisite feeling of his caresses. Charity was a good distraction against all that; because no matter what had happened with Tony and me, he'd said –and I'd agreed- that it meant nothing. I chanted the word to myself as I felt asleep. Repeated it again when I woke up, murmuring it in my mind like a mantra as I went through my day.

_Nothing. _It meant nothing, and Tony meant nothing except what he should mean to me. A step-father. The man I'd alternately hated or tolerated over the past two years. Certainly not the lover whose attentions I fought against remembering.

I'd expected our driver to pick me up that weekend to bring me to Farthy; but instead, it was him. Tony sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes, leaping out to take my school bag and usher me into the passenger seat of the car.

"I could have carried that myself," I told him as he stretched the seatbelt over me, placed the bag at my feet. "It's heavy."

"A lot of homework this week?" he asked, not even acknowledging my comment. "You've just got back from vacation."

"We've got finals soon." I fiddled with the window, not looking at him. My heart felt like it was inexplicably beating faster, and all I could smell was him. A hint of musk and the crisp scent of starch from his shirt. "We're promised a place at Winterhaven's upper school, as long as we've got good grades."

"Yes," Tony said. "I forgot that. It's your graduation isn't it? At the end of May, before you go into ninth grade in the autumn. You're getting to be quite grown up, Leigh."

"Stop calling me a child," I muttered, turning to glare at him. He shot me an amused look from the corner of his eye before looking back toward the road, effortlessly shifting gears before patting my hand. I could feel the warmth of his fingers on mine, even after he took his hand away.

"I didn't say you were," he chuckled. "Give me some credit, Leigh. I know better than to insinuate such a thing."

Miles passed in silence, with only the radio to keep us company. Tony played with the dial as he drove, stopping occasionally on songs and asking my approval before either letting it stay or changing it for something better. I drummed my fingers on the side of the door, head turned to watch the scenery flying past.

"I'm sure Troy will be waiting by the door for you," Tony said when I hadn't spoken for nearly half the ride. "He begged to come with me to pick you up; but he's not feeling well, so we decided it might be better if I came alone."

"Is he alright?" I asked anxiously. "Anything serious?"

"No," Tony shook his head. "Just a cold, I think. Might be an indoors weekend for him... though, if you've got that much studying to do, that would be best for both of you.

"I was good at math," he offered nonchalantly. "If you needed any help...?"

"It's mostly English. We're reading Shakespeare. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"Ah." He gave me a small, pleased smile. "I love that one. All the world's a stage..." He looked expectantly at me; and I shrugged, trying to remember the end of that quote.

"And all the men and women merely actors?" I finished hesitantly. Tony nodded approvingly as we drove through the gates of Farthy.

"Amazing how true that still is," he said absently. "The world isn't built on improvisation, Leigh. We play the roles we're given. No matter if they suit us, or not."

He helped me out of the car, swinging my bag onto his shoulder as we walked toward Farthy. "It sounds," I began, looking up at him, "like you think we have no input on our own lives. As though we're just moved around to suit someone else's will."

"Sometimes," Tony said, not looking at me, "I think that's accurate. We're not people at all, Leigh. We're just puppets in a fancy display."

There was a look on his face, twisted and sad, as the butler opened the doors. But I forgot it a moment later as Troy rushed into my arms, talking breathlessly as about what he wanted us to do that weekend; and Tony melted away toward his office without another word.

My school-time mantra was meaningless within the walls of Farthy. The air itself felt like it was full of Tony Tatterton, and no matter when I turned, I found myself inundated by his presence. But then, too, he was always there. Sitting in the library doing work as Troy played on the floor and I wrestled with Shakespeare. Smiling charmingly and enquiring about what I did with my friends over the breakfast table; asking about the books I had to read, the bands I liked over dinner. We watched Star Trek in the evening with Troy sitting between us, hiding his face in my lap when he was scared; and afterwards debated about the idea of travelling to distant planets.

"You're being very nice," I said, rubbing my eyes with my back of my hand. It had gotten late while we were talking; and I was getting sleepy. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a sudden, wary look on Tony's face; and I swore he shifted slightly away from me.

"Is there some rule that says I shouldn't be nice?" he asked mildly. "You're only home on the weekends, Leigh. I'm trying to be the-" he coughed "parent who spends time with you. The other ones certainly lack that ability."

"Mother is Mother. But Daddy is busy," I retorted. "He apologised for not being there when I was upset and needed him, when I called and called last week..."

It may have been a trick of the light, the fleeting worry that passed over his face. "You called Cleave, then? Last week?"

"There was something wrong with the ship, and he couldn't call me back until our usual time on Tuesday. And by then, I was..." My voice faded, as I tried to find the right words. Fine. Good. More filled with a silly obsession over how it had felt with Tony the second time, the slight hurt that he thought it was so easy to put away those feelings that I'd somehow forgotten how upset I'd been when I'd really needed to talk to Daddy.

"I was all right by then," I finished lamely. "And he told me he'll be here next week, anyway. There's an open house at Winterhaven, for us to see the upper school.

"He's going to come visit," I said excitedly, "he promised that he'll definitely be there."

"You miss your father," Tony said absently. "You don't talk about him a lot anymore; sometimes I wonder if you do miss him."

"I don't talk about him?" I couldn't keep the incredulous note from my voice. Daddy was Daddy. Always there in the back of my mind and central in my heart. But Tony may have been right. In the past two years, as I saw him less and less and he became a weekly participant in my life via telephone... he had faded from me. He was a bit of memory: spicy aftershave and greying hair, his deep belly laugh and that comfort I'd get when he would cuddle me close to his chest and I could count his heartbeats.

"It's nice that he's going to come visit," Tony said. "I'm sure you'll have a good time together." He had turned away from me and I studied his profile in the lamplight. Strong jaw and the smooth planes of his cheekbones, the softness of his lips... I could feel my breath catch in my chest, my cheeks flushing slightly until I looked away as well.

"This has been a nice weekend," I mumbled instead. "Thank you for it. I'm sure you were busy."

"I'm never too busy to want to spend time with you," Tony said. His voice was calm, polite; but his fingers were restlessly pinching the crease of his trousers, endlessly smoothing it down and tugging it back into place before he suddenly stood up. I nearly fell over without the warm comfort of his body next to mine; Troy had long since climbed into my lap and fallen asleep and we'd been sitting beside each other ever since.

"The driver will bring you back to school tomorrow." Tony's voice sounded distant, and I craned my neck to peer up at him. There was a coldness on his features, a blankness that was terrifying... and all the more so because he hadn't been like that all weekend. "I've got meetings all next week so I'll be too busy to drive you back.

"Good night, Leigh. I'll see you soon." He turned and walked away without another word, leaving me feeling oddly shaken by the change in him... and slightly chilled without him at my side.

* * *

><p>It was rare that parents were at Winterhaven; and so when they were, the school seemed to sparkle as it never did during the usual school year. The floors were waxed and shiny, the halls filled with warmth and bustle and cheerful voices of girls greeting their families and introducing them around.<p>

And I waited by the driveway for Daddy, my fingers clutched around each other as I watched and watched for his car. I'd planned it on Sunday night while I was still at Farthy, lying awake in bed after Tony had so suddenly walked away from me. I'd take him to meet the teachers of my best subjects: History first, then English. After that would be French, Geography and Math before we went to see the new school building I'd be in next year, and meet my new headmistress, Mrs. Mallory.

But I was the last one left on the driveway. Even Marian's parents –always notoriously late- had arrived, and still I waited... until a Mercedes pulled up and Tony got out, striding toward me with brisk steps. I could guess at the look I had on my face because he frowned, holding one hand out to me.

"He called Farthy but Jillian wasn't awake yet; so Perkins called me at work," Tony said simply. "Cleave got stuck in a traffic accident, Leigh. He's fine," he added hastily, mistaking the shock on my face for concern, "but by the time he would have been able to get here, the day might have been over. He really meant to be here."

"But he's not. And he promised." Anger was choking my throat, my eyes full of tears that I hastily blinked back. "I didn't expect Mother to be here. But Daddy..." My voice broke, and Tony pulled me into a hug, patting my back helplessly.

"He tried," he said again. "And I know that he called the Headmistress. When he comes to enrol you in the upper school, you can show him everything then... but for today, I'm here." Tony gave me a winsome smile, trying to distract me from my tears.

"Aren't I better than nothing?" he teased, drying my eyes.

_Nothing. _My mantra word.

"You're not nothing," I snapped. Tony didn't even flinch as he took my hand, leading me into Winterhaven.

"No, of course not. I'm your stepfather," he answered with a pleasant smile. "And I'm here to see your school, and to see you."

Tony Tatterton at his most charming was a force to be reckoned with. He chatted effortlessly with my teachers, awing them with how much he knew about my schoolwork. He made conversation with my friends and their parents, smilingly poked his head into every nook and cranny of my school and asked leading questions about the building and grounds from the administration. He was pleasant and amiable, a blend of old fashioned gentility and movie star good looks; and I should have been as enchanted as everyone else.

But I wasn't. By the end of the day, my anger over Daddy not being able to get here had faded to a dull irritation in the back of my mind, taken over by a faint concern with how Tony was acting. Cheerful and jovial. My real father could have done no better... except that Tony wasn't my father.

We had a history between us: bitter and passionate and wrong and thrilling. And each time he put his arm around my shoulder, laughingly kissed the top of my head and praised my study habits, my intelligence; I felt my stomach twisting into knots, my heart beating faster as I fought the urge to pull away from him.

"Why did you come here?" I finally hissed when we were alone at the end of the day. Around us, the other girls were calling cheerful farewells to their parents; but I crossed my arms, glaring daggers at Tony. "You're not my father and I hate you pretending you are! Trying to be nice and watch television with me, asking about the music I like or my homework!"

Tony shrugged. "Leigh," he said slowly, cheerful demeanour fading and smile falling off his face, "I'm not trying to replace Cleave."

"No," I said bitterly. "You're trying to be my _stepfather._" I injected the word with everything I felt, all the impotent rage and sadness that lingered within me. "Because that's all we're supposed to be, and it's easy for you to forget that night—"

There was a flash of anger across Tony's face, and he took a step toward me, grabbing me by the arm as he leaned over to whisper into my ear.

"If you must know, Leigh, I didn't just come here because Cleave couldn't. I wanted to see you _here_, in school, where you belong. Even in" he smirked "your uniform. You come home on Fridays and leave Monday morning in your pretty dresses, and it's so easy to look at you then and see only what I expect to see. What I want to see." He paused, brushing his hand over his face, his expression both furious and full of sadness.

"Seeing you here in Winterhaven reminds me of who you are, how things are. My innocent schoolgirl stepdaughter. I came here, because I thought it might make things right and be an apology for what happened in the past between us that I can't change.

"And," he continued, taking a deep breath and standing away from me, "I came here because I had a thought that you might like it? Having someone that cares about you enough to want to make you happy. Someone who wants know more about you. Forgive me, Leigh, for not realising you had so many other people in your life to do that, that you would take my interest for granted."

He didn't wait for an answer; just got into the car and drove away, leaving me staring after him with a suddenly bereft feeling in my heart and more tears pooling in my eyes. Because he was right. It's been so long since someone wanted to know more about me, was interested and concerned with me; what I want, what I dream about and hope for. Everyone wants something from me, expects something. Daddy was more interested in his work commitments than me, and Mother had long since ceased to care... and even Troy, little as he was, wanted his sister to play with and pay attention to him.

It's been so long since anyone treated me with affection that I forgot how it feels. And I don't want to let go of it. Of the person who makes me feel like that.

He sent the driver to pick me up on Friday, and when I got home I wandered restlessly around Farthy until Troy slept. Tony had come in from work simply to disappear into his office, and I slipped into the room as noiselessly as I could; but I know he saw me. The bright red of my dress stood out in that room of mahogany and blues, and my hair glowed almost white in the lamplight.

"I'm sorry," I said simply, holding my hands out entreatingly. He didn't look up at me.

"Tony." I spoke a little louder to get his attention, and he finally raised his head, surveying me. "I said that I'm sorry. I acted badly at Winterhaven."

"Yes," he replied flatly. "You did."

"I didn't think about why you might be nice to me. That it was such a noble motive. But it's probably because-" I checked my words as I looked away from him.

"Everyone wants something from me," I admitted. "They expect something from me, how they think I should act. My friend Charity said that I changed over the holidays; she felt that she barely knew me anymore. And maybe I have. Because I'm so tired of people thinking they can treat me however they want.

"I think," I whispered, my mouth feeling sandpaper dry, "that if I want something... then I should do something to have it."

My breathing was shallow, my heart fluttering in my chest as Tony came out from behind his desk, walking toward me to stop mere inches away; and a sound escaped my throat. Something between a whimper and a cry: a sad, tortured sound. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, lips pressed together.

"What is it that you want, Leigh?"

I want to have someone in my life who cares about me. I want to have someone think of me, for a change. I want to never be alone; and there was a faint thought in the back of my mind -an ephemeral, intangible thought- that I knew how to do that. To have what I wanted.

Everything I wanted.

"I can't forget," I said finally, looking up at Tony through lowered eyelashes, shifting my body slightly closer to him. There was no need for further explanation; his face was closed and shuttered from the moment I uttered those three words.

"You should."

"Have you?" I put my hand on his arm, feeling his muscles tense beneath my fingers. "Can you forget?"

"I'm trying to," he muttered. He stepped closer, close enough to put his hand behind me to keep the door shut. How trapped I felt, his arm between me and the outside world... And yet, so excited. My heart beat faster, and my cheeks burned with a rosy flush at his nearness.

"What if," I swallowed against a lump in my throat, "what if I don't want you to?"

"Do you really know what you're saying, Leigh?" His voice was low and intense, sending shivers down my spine. "Can you understand what you're asking for?"

"I'm not a child," I insisted. "And I know what I want."

He waited for a moment to hear what my next words would be; but a slight shifting of our bodies toward each other, the warmth and nearness of him overwhelmed me and we were kissing. Again. Glorious kissing that made my body tingle and my heart pound.

_You_, I thought as his lips parted on mine, his tongue delving into my mouth with a furious intensity that I couldn't help but return. I leaned into him helplessly as his hands caressed down my body, pulling one leg up onto his waist so he could press me against the door; and tears ran down my face as I clung to him.

I want someone to care about me. And he was the only one who would.


	15. Chapter 14: Behind the Façade

Alright, apologies. It is _beyond_ bad how long it's been since I've updated this; and I'm even posting this late, because I'd hoped to have it up for ...umm. Valentines Day. Anyway. Thanks to those of you who've stuck around, and read and review and everything. You guys are total stars.

* * *

><p>Once, I'd felt that I'd never get over Mother's remarriage, her vow toward having another child, the hurt that Daddy had felt and my hatred of Tony. But things change and life moves on; and time is, if not the ultimate healer, then as least provides the distance for wounds to heal themselves.<p>

After that night in Tony's office, my life continued. I went back to Winterhaven. I bathed and brushed my teeth, laughed with friends and did my homework. And on the weekend, every weekend, I was at Farthy. My days were spent playing with Troy, running with him in the gardens and patiently teaching him to ride the pony that Grandma Jana had sent for his last birthday.

On the outside nothing had changed. But in truth: everything had.

From the moment I saw him on Fridays, everything was about Tony. He was there to pick me up after school and drive me back Sunday evening; he was in the library when I did my homework and sat with me at Troy's bedside when we wished him goodnight. And he talked to me incessantly: about music and books and friends, about my classes and the teachers he'd met with, how my schoolwork was going, how I felt about graduating in June and every other aspect of my week when I was away, until it was enough that even Mother noticed.

"Tony dear," she asked over the dinner table one Saturday, with a little titter of high-pitched laughter, "why do you need to ask Leigh so many questions about that _place_? She's home to get away from it."

"It's a school, Jill; not a prison you send your daughter to so that she's not here." Tony raised an eyebrow at her coolly, seeming to dare her to say something further. She shrugged, her fork spearing a single pea but not bringing it to her lips.

"I know it's a school. And I never intended her to be there; it was Cleave who insisted. I suppose I should be grateful," she continued, her voice sounding anything but "because at least she is in the correct social circles, in school with young ladies of the best families."

"Yes," said Tony smoothly, "lucky that Leigh is in that sort of company. It was enlightening to see those girls and their behaviour when I visited. You could say that I'm curious about how those very… proper…girls act, when they're not in front of teachers and family."

There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, and I ducked my head over my plate to stifle the giggle that wanted to come out. Already -privately- he'd heard all about their snobbishness with Mother's divorce, about Charity and our history and how increasingly isolated I felt there.

"Winterhaven has an excellent reputation for its academics," he said straight-faced, "and I'm just trying to find out more about it, to see if Leigh is really happy there. And who knows…" Tony gazed straight at Mother, his eyes shadowed, "perhaps one day, if we have a daughter, she could follow her sister there."

Something about that made my heart flutter wildly, and I frowned. With everything that had happened between Tony and myself, I'd forgotten. And there had been no talk of a baby, not since that last time… but there were words unspoken now, a tension in the air between all of us that stretched as tangible as a rope. Mother broke the silence with a laugh, her eyes hastily skipping away from his.

"Yes, perhaps. Although Winterhaven has a past with the Vanvoreen family, not the Tattertons. And I know that you hope, Tony darling, for a son. As I do."

"I _had_ hoped for an heir," Tony answered, his voice soft but crystal clear. "I don't care anymore, boys or girls. Just someone who loves me to come home to."

Mother simply brushed his words away, changing the topic immediately for the recent events of a party they'd both attended; but there was something about what Tony had said that stayed with me. His very wording confused me, perhaps even bothered me a little.

"Mother loves you," I said with no preamble, standing in the doorway of his office. Tony raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his papers.

"She does," I insisted. "She says so."

He lifted his head, studying me with those blue, blue eyes. "Yes," he conceded in a silky voice. "She does say so. Often, and especially when she wants something."

"And," I persisted, fighting against what felt like the dull ache of anger in my chest, "you come home to her!"

He nodded. "During the week when you're not here… yes. I come home to my-" he paused to imbue the next word with the faintest whiff of sarcasm, "wife."

"So then what did you mean tonight, at dinner? About having someone who loved you?"

"Perhaps I didn't mean anything. Perhaps I meant someone who loves me for me, and not what I give them. Sometimes I think that I don't even need an heir. There's always Troy and the children he might have one day to inherit…though I wonder if he'll ever live long enough, or be healthy enough to do so." Tony sighed, brushing his hand through his hair and mussing the blond waves before they settled back into place.

"Sometimes I think that all I want is someone who cares, even enough to ask about my day because they're interested or remembers what is important to me… but does this really matter to you?" he asked in a tired voice, pushing his chair back and striding toward me. "I thought you came here for another reason?"

"No," I whispered, feeling my heart begin beating faster. "I just wanted to ask what you meant."

"Liar." His lips were on mine in a hard, furious kiss that robbed me of breath and reason; I clung to him, my arms twining around his neck as I matched his passion. For a moment, I was aware of nothing but the scrape of his teeth against my lip, his tongue fiercely delving into my mouth; and then he pulled back from me, pressing little kisses on my cheeks, down my neck.

"If that was all you wanted," he murmured, "you would have asked at the table. You would have followed me here afterwards with your questions when the house was awake, when Troy would demand our attention a moment later and you could escape. But you come here, now. It's almost midnight, and there's no one in Farthy awake but us."

He tugged the hem of my nightgown up and I felt the cool air hit my legs, soothed instantly by the warmth of his hand sliding up my knee, lifting it until it was around his waist. His fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh, pausing before he pushing them into me roughly and I gasped from the pain and pleasure, all at once.

"You're not even wearing anything beneath here," he murmured in my ear, his hand cupping my sex, fingers pumping frantically as he ground his palm down hard, rhythmically in time. "So I think that this is what you came for… am I right?"

I whimpered, my hips rocking back and forth against him, seeking more, more. "No… It was a question, I just wanted to know…"

"Don't lie to me, Leigh." His voice was almost a growl. "I know when you lie. Tell me the truth… are you a little jealous, maybe? Wondering how with a beautiful wife who loves me, I'd even want you like this… "

My eyes flew open, filled with hurt and anger. "If you don't want me here," I snapped, pushing his hands away, "then stop it. And… I'm not jealous, Tony! Why would I ever be jealous of _her_?!"

I'd told myself again and again: what we had was nothing to do with love. Love was what I'd had with Joshua; sweet, silly, fluffy love; and had been nothing like this. _This_ was physical pleasure, pure selfishness as we took what we craved from each other.

At least; that's where it had started for me. All I had wanted at first was that bliss in knowing someone cared however briefly, in whatever way… But that's not all it was, anymore. Slowly, there was more than the physical side to our relationship, more even than his unrelenting, ceaseless obsession with wanting to know everything about me.

I wasn't sure how he felt about me; and I certainly couldn't describe what I'd grown to feel for him. There weren't words that could encompass it, good or bad… and I couldn't explain why it hurt _me_ to see the wounded expression that crossed his face now, the forlorn look that shadowed his eyes. He held out his hand to me, but I ignored it.

"I'm going," I said defiantly, reaching for the doorknob; but his hand was there to block me, holding it closed.

"I apologize, Leigh. I was wrong… because _you'd _never be jealous, would you?" There was a broken sound in his voice; and I looked up at him. His face was set in an impassive mask… but there was a tear glistening on his cheek.

"Should I be?" I took one step closer, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him and tasting the salt from his tears on my lips. Tony let out a small shuddering sigh, his arms coming up around me to hold me hard against him.

"Never," he whispered, as he pulled my nightgown off. My fingers were clumsy against his shirt buttons and his trouser zip as I tried to rid him of his clothes without breaking our sudden, frantic kisses; and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck as he pushed me up against the door and passion overwhelmed us.

* * *

><p>It was late when I woke up, but still dark outside. Through the windows of Tony's office, high above where we lay entwined on his plush burgundy carpeting, I could see the faint twinkling light of far off stars, the round glow of a nearly full moon.<p>

"When did you turn off the light?" I asked sleepily, burrowing my head into his chest and sneaking one soft kiss directly over his heart.

"After you fell asleep," whispered Tony. He sounded alert, as though he'd been awake for hours. "I thought I'd wake you for you to go back to your rooms, but…" He sighed, one hand gently smoothing back my hair.

"You looked so peaceful, asleep in the moonlight. It turns your hair silver, and shines off your eyelashes, turns your skin to alabaster and your lips the palest rose..."

His voice was a soft hypnotic chant, and I smiled. "That sounds like a poem," I teased. "Or a description from a story, like I'm some sort of enchanted fairy Princess…"

"Nothing wrong with that," Tony answered. I turned my head to see his face, looking wistful. "An enchanted fairy Princess, to be woken kisses from her suitor…"

"Her handsome suitor?"

"Of course. Did you know that in the oldest versions of fairy tales, it wasn't a kiss but often something violent, more –" he trailed his hand down my spine, pausing on the small of my back, "carnal that woke the Sleeping Beauties of far off Kingdoms?"

I wrinkled my nose, and he gave a soft chuckle, answering the question I hadn't asked. "If I hadn't had to study business at Harvard, I might have wanted Literature. Or Art."

"But…you said you can't draw?"

For just a moment, Tony looked confused. "You remember that? You remember me saying that?"

"Yes," I nodded, "of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

I could feel the intensity of his eyes on me even in the semi-darkness, those blue eyes shining in equal measure of surprise and delight. "I had a dream that I was awake," he murmured, "and I woke up to find myself asleep."

"What does that mean? About dreams and waking and… everything?"

"It means that sometimes you find what you most want where you never expected it." He brought my hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip and then the center of my palm.

"I still don't understand."

"No… you're too practical, Leigh. I don't think you would."

"And you," I teased, "are a dreamer."

Tony laughed, the sound light and carefree as he laced our fingers together. "Am I? I don't think anyone else but you would think so."

"Maybe," I said without thinking, "I just know you better than anyone else."

Tony felt silent, his thumb softly stroking along the inside of my wrist. "Perhaps you do."

After those first nights, when the frenzied kisses and the overwhelming ecstasy of our furtive coupling was finished; something had happened between us, a connection that I had never expected. It had started small; my nervous question into the silence to ask what he was thinking about and how his week had been, had led to me hearing all about the workings of Tatterton Toys and his day-to-day life, about his meetings and clients and manufacturers.

There had been times in the past when I'd tentatively liked Tony, found his attentions charming or funny or flattering… but I'd never respected him. I'd never seen anything _to_ respect in the man responsible for stealing away the warm security of my life and Daddy's happiness, in a man who seemed to continually dance to Mother's tune.

But everyone has faces that they show the world, and ones they keep hidden; and the more time I spent with Tony over our night-time conversations, the more I realized that he was a person, and not a bad one. He might have seemed practical and determined and sure of himself during the day; but at night… the person I was growing to know was an impractical dreamer, a sleepy-eyed literate with a touch of melancholy and self-deprecating humour who at twenty-two, longed to prove himself to those who thought themselves older and wiser than he was.

"You're right," he murmured, drawing my attention back to him. "I can't draw. I can't even write a good poem. Keep trying to rhyme moon and June and soon… my English professor despaired and told me to stick to business. But I've always loved reading; I had a corner in the library that was just for me, when I was young. I've always had a soft spot for fairy tales, even now. And don't laugh," he warned, tickling me to make me giggle, "and call me childish. Everything is so neat, in a fairy tale. The brave Prince gets the fair Princess. The Kingdom is safe. The Evil Witch gets her due."

"Is that," I asked curiously, tracing my finger over his chest, "why you had-"

I stopped, biting back words. I'd been about to ask if that was why he had Mother's painting in the music room. But when we were like this, it never seemed the right time or place. There was a part of me that felt that somehow what we had, whatever it was we had, was something fleeting and cherished; and I wanted it to be only us there and no other phantoms between us.

"Why you wanted that mural?" I finished tentatively. "I thought it was for Troy… but it was for you?"

"Fairy tales scare him," Tony said, pulling me closer. "He fears that the witches and devils are never really gone. But for me… my earliest memories are of Mother dismissing my nanny so she could read the storybooks my father deemed nonsense to me at bedtime."

"Your…Mother?" I faltered.

"I did have one," admitted Tony wryly. "Troy and I didn't appear from nowhere."

"But you don't talk about her. Ever, either of you; I've never heard her mentioned. What was she like?"

Tony sighed, stretching over to kiss my forehead, before lying back and cradling me to his chest.

"She was the youngest daughter of an English Earl who had come to visit America after the War; and her name was Violet. I have her eyes I suppose, but you can see her more in Troy… her complexion, the shape of her nose and mouth. And she had dark hair too, like his. I remember being very little -maybe around five years old- and watching her brush it. She used this silver brush set, and I just remember the brush sparkling in the light, and her dark hair taking on reddish tones like fire. She was so beautiful… and she had this way about her. When she laughed she could make you forget anything bad had ever, or could ever happen… but she wasn't often happy here."

Tony paused, his hand smoothing back my hair from my forehead. "I think," he said softly, "that she missed England. And too, she thought she was getting something else when she got married… but my Father wasn't the sort of man who engendered closeness and kept his wife and children at a distance. I think he regretted that when she was gone. That he never told her how much he loved her."

He'd told me about his father before; about how some days he felt that he had to work as hard as he did, be as perfect as he could so that the company Board wouldn't regret that he'd inherited his father's place. He'd mentioned going to boarding school in England and his physical homesickness for Farthy when he was there; and his father's grudging agreement when he was allowed to come home, his tacit anger at the thought his son was a coward. But I'd never heard this particular sound in Tony's voice; that lost, broken sound of someone feeling lost and needing comfort.

"I think it wasn't just your father. You must all have loved her very much," I finally whispered, caressing the back of his hand, drawing random shapes and letters with my fingers. A V for Violet, T for Tony. L for Leigh; and then without meaning to, I added an o, v and e before brushing my fingers over as if to wipe them away, and hoping he hadn't noticed.

"And she sounds very beautiful," I added hastily. "Do you have a picture of her?"

"Somewhere." Tony sounded rather vague. "When she died, Father put all her pictures away. It hurt him too much, I think, to see her."

I'd never noticed it before, but here in Farthy there were no portraits of long-deceased ancestors gracing the walls, no sepia-toned pictures lining the mantels. In fact, throughout the entire house, the only really human portraits were the figures from Mother's fairy-tale mural.

"Isn't that sad? Hiding everything that belonged to her, as if she never existed?"

"Her things aren't hidden; they are scattered around Farthy if you know where to look, or what they mean. And the pictures… It's very difficult to go on when your hearts break… and we Tatterton men tend to fall in love very deeply; and we hurt all the more when things end." He let out a dramatic sigh and gave me a cheeky smile, breaking the reflective mood we'd been in. I laughed, reaching up to caress his cheek, and he turned to press a kiss against my palm, then my wrist, the inside of my elbow and the top of my shoulder.

"Do you?" I asked, feeling breathless at just the heat of his breath against my collarbone. "Do you really, I mean? Love deeply."

"I'm surprised you need to ask," was all he murmured, before tipping my face up to his, capturing my lips in a kiss.

The sun was already up by the time I left Tony's office, and I could hear the maids already clattering around with brooms and mops in the downstairs, and Rye Whisky's cheerful singing in the kitchen. Any of them could have seen me and questioned why I'd be walking the halls barefoot, my hair tangled and nightgown a crumpled mess; but as I walked into my bedroom with my body pleasantly sore and a satisfied smile on my face, I didn't care at all.

Once, years ago it seemed, I'd been Leigh Vanvoreen. A good student, loyal friend, unquestioningly understanding daughter; twisted and turned and caught by fate, by the decisions of her parents and friends and everyone except herself.

But everything was different, no matter if people believed I was the same on the outside. Because the girl I used to be would never have been capable of sustaining the lie that Tony meant nothing to her except a devoted and involved stepfather. She would have been horrified at the brush of his hands against her neck when he helped her with her coat, at the feel of his fingers warm on her thigh as he leaned over to buckle her seatbelt; and she would have blushed with endless shame at our stolen kisses and furtive caresses in the hallways when no one else was around, and the nights of passion and sleepy confidences.

There were times that I remembered that Leigh. An innocent girl with her sunny smile, her long blonde hair and guileless eyes; and there were times I was sorry that she'd been burned up and fallen away because I couldn't help but feel she'd be embarrassed by what I'd become.

A smiling cheerful shell, who only felt alive when I was with him.


End file.
